Green Glass
by Priah
Summary: A bar and game of Quidditch jump started their unexpected romance. What happens when a baby arrives? Will Hermione's modest salary from Emory's Mortuary and Draco's work-on-commission antique buisness be enough to keep them alive? DracoHermione.
1. Thaumatoddy

Perpetual Disclaimer: I do not own most of these characters or Hogwarts. Other than that, the rest is pretty much original; this goes for all future chapters as well.  
  
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Green Glass: Part One  
  
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Chapter 1: Thaumatoddy  
  
Hermione Granger sat idly at an empty round table in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. It had been five years since she'd last seen this starry ceiling, watched the food miraculously appear, or seen Harry bicker with Zabini like they were both two years old. In fact, it had been nearly so long since she'd seen Harry; they'd met once or twice with Ron the summer after graduation, but once three separate colleges pulled the trio apart, their ties became severed.  
  
It was now half a decade since the day they were set free and nearly all had returned to reminisce. Ron was among those with business too pressing to spare an evening with old friends, and Hermione could admit a certain disappointment. It didn't help that Harry was acting possibly more immature than he had in seventh year. As she sat alone and traced the rim of her punch glass, Hermione watched her old friend work up a row with a former enemy. Blaise Zabini, the vainest girl in Slytherin, was standing with a purpose in the center of the dance floor, face red with fury as she fought with the most famous boy wizard in the world. Harry had initiated the fight, coming up behind her with an air of cockiness likable to Snape.  
  
"So we meet again, Zabini. Found a new rat to chase?" he said before Hermione could intervene. She had been speaking with him, quite impressed with the way he'd grown up, and had excused herself for a glass of brew. When she had returned, however, Harry was stalking up to the pretty Slytherin brunette.  
  
Blaise spun around, her silky hair bouncing against her cheeks. Her eyebrows were already drawn toward the bridge of her nose, angered at a forgotten voice remembered.  
  
"Potter," she greeted, however maliciously. Without the slightest regard to building conversation, Harry burst out with malevolence, evidently hoping to insult her.  
  
"Voldemort was a bloody hypocrite. He was a damn muggle-born himself," he said, ignoring the lapse of years and starting in as if he had only been fighting with her a moment ago. Hermione, at this point, let her eyes roll into the back of her head and plopped down in a wooden chair, watching the fight enrooted on the floor. The light music was drowned by their yells, and those dancing soon moved aside, circling them like vultures. Harry and Blaise stood alone in the center of the room, eyes locked and bodies tense. It was as if they'd never been apart.  
  
"That is completely unjustified, Potter! No one even knows if Riddle was really his father! How could a dirty muggle produce such a wonderful wizard?" she yelled in response, immediately killing Hermione's hope that she would remain mature and stop the fight before it even started.  
  
"Wonderful? Wonderful! And you say me unjustified!"  
  
"As if Dumbledore was any better! He did the same things Voldemort did, but without any defensible reason! And you! You bloody killed him! Murderer!" Blaise cried, much like the spoilt child she was, and Hermione found herself surprised the girl hadn't stamped her foot.  
  
"Yes I damn well killed him! And I'd do it again! I've done the world a favor, ridding it of something so vile."  
  
Hermione dropped her hand onto the table, shaking her curls and taking a sip of her drink. Someone had spiked it, but it wasn't quite as much kick as she would have liked; a little alcohol to delude the situation would be very much welcome.  
  
"Harry, Harry..." she whispered to herself, "you are such a jackass. Honestly." To her surprise, Hermione heard a hearty laugh. She looked up to see Malfoy who, without bothering to inquire of it's occupancy, took the seat beside her and placed his half empty glass on the table.  
  
"And I would have to agree," he announced, smirking at her and leaning back in his chair. Hermione, who decided not to take a leaf out of Harry's book and provide a reaction, instead sighed and turned back to the scene.  
  
"He acts like he's bloody twelve years old. Look... he's just stuck his tongue out at her," she pointed out, hearing Draco chuckle again. "You'd think he'd have grown out of this, but no... not Harry."  
  
"Well, now, don't be so cynical. At least he has good arguments," he leveled, looking as if he were disappointed in his housemate. Hermione lifted an eyebrow at him, surprised.  
  
"Am I mistaken, or are you defending Harry?" she inquired, to which Draco quickly shook his head.  
  
"Of course not. I didn't say he was _right_... but Zambini's trying to make the dark lord look like a bloody messiah; even I'm not so ignorant as to ignore the fact that Voldemort wasn't a nice person."  
  
"I believe those of us in reality would call that an understatement," Hermione said, laughing softly and sipping her punch.  
  
"All right," Draco granted. "A being so dark and ornery the deepest pit of perdition would turn the monster away to avoid his company." At this, Hermione nearly snorted.  
  
"If more Slytherin would admit that..." she started, but Draco interrupted her.  
  
"If more Slytherin thought like me there wouldn't _be _such a house."  
  
Hermione nodded slightly, her attention turned back to the fight before her.  
  
"Is it just me," she wondered aloud. "Or are they getting closer to each other?" Draco laughed.  
  
"Are you so blind? Here, allow me," he said, then turned his stormy eyes to the two people basking in hatred. He was silent for a moment, and Hermione began to think that he had stated his point and she had missed it entirely. Draco, however, had yet to prove anything. "Wait for it..." he coached a moment later, leaning forward as if the gain of inches would allow him a better view. "Five... four... three..." he spoke almost in a whisper, and Hermione cocked an eyebrow as her eyes followed the path of his gaze. Almost directly on three, Blaise Zabini leapt forward and pounced on Harry Potter, pressing her ruby lips violently to his. Hermione choked on her punch.  
  
"Bloody hell!" she exclaimed, eyes as wide as saucers. Her shock doubled however, when Harry pulled Blaise's thin body toward him and thrust his tongue into her mouth, instigating more force and zeal than her initiation had. Draco chuckled.  
  
"I was a bit off..."  
  
"How the hell did you know that?" she asked him in pure curiosity and Draco shrugged.  
  
"Passion grows most honestly from hate," he told her, holding the shadow of a smile on his lips. Hermione couldn't take her eyes off Harry and Blaise, watching as he traced the contours of her body with his hands, taking in every curve as his mouth explored elsewhere. Blaise too had spent more than a moment basking in Harry's embrace; she ran her fingers through his hair and curled a leg around his, melding them together. Hermione shivered. "Jealous?" Draco asked, startling her out of her daze. She shook her head instantly.  
  
"Of course not. I haven't even seen Harry in well over three years. I'm just surprised... I'd never have thought..."  
  
"You should pay more attention, then. I was honestly off by quite a bit; I'd expected it about five years ago. In fact, I believe I had money on graduation," Draco said and shrugged. "I'm glad it finally happened. Really quite annoying, the sexual tension between them."  
  
"I feel incredibly left out," Hermione announced, crossing her arms and pouting. Draco smirked at her.  
  
"Oh," he cooed. "Is that my fault?" Hermione turned to him curiously. It was almost as if he was... flirting?  
  
"At the risk of sounding cliché," she began. "Why are you being tolerable to me? Was I supposed to see that coming as well?" He laughed heartily.  
  
"Perhaps if you were a little less self centered," Draco started, ignoring Hermione's open-mouthed and silent response. "You're not the only one allowed to grow up, you know. Quite a few of us have taken the liberty of following in such footsteps." There was a slight pause before Hermione burst out, as if Draco's last two sentences had never been said.  
  
"How _dare_ you call _me_ self centered! Imagine! You of all people!"  
  
"Come now... you're starting to sound like Potter. Never a good thing, that," Draco advised, taking a sip of his punch and smirking over the rim of his glass. Hermione sighed, acknowledging the truth in his statement. She shook her head and downed the rest of her beverage, then pressed her thumbs to the corners of her mouth to catch a few escaping drops.  
  
"I think it's this castle," she admitted. "I feel as if I'm regressing." Draco smirked.  
  
"Well we can't have that. The world be damned if Hermione Granger falls to stupidity. We've got to get you out of here."  
  
"Aw," Hermione said, pretending to pout. She saw no harm in playing along. If Malfoy wanted to flirt, she was damn well going to flirt back. "But I've only just gotten here. Such a shame to leave such a lovely party."  
  
"Aye," Draco agreed, placing a thin finger to his chin. "But a problem easily solved."  
  
"Yes? Do elaborate," she urged.  
  
"Well, bring the party with you. Of course."  
  
"And how might I do that?" Hermione put forth, earning her very own smirk from her blonde bar-buddy.  
  
"I'm not that difficult to relocate," he said suggestively, and Hermione found herself giggling. She shook her head at him and leaned back in her chair, resuming her watch of Harry and Blaise, who had evidently proclaimed their love to each other, as they were now dancing close, mouths detached, but bodies so near they seemed one person. Draco, however, sat straight. "I'm serious," he said. "Let's go somewhere." Hermione turned to him then, and lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"You want to leave... with me?" she asked, to which Draco simply shrugged. "Why?"  
  
"Well, I want to leave just now, and you happen to be the one I am talking to. I am only offering; by no means a binding contract. Come if you come, don't if you don't, either way, I'm off. Feel free to stay and keep tabs on Potter. Do enjoy yourself," Draco said, then stood from his chair and made his way out the doors, stopping only once to lift a coat from the back of another chair, quite nearly across the room. Hermione watched him leave, then turned back to Harry, who had his hands rooted to Blaise's rump. She quickly decided that she did not want to see their evening progress. With no other option of interest, Hermione swallowed her doubt and stood from the table, following Draco through the great hall doors. She hurried, afraid she'd missed him; she did after all have no idea where he was off to.  
  
Realizing that Draco would have to either fly or walk to Hogsmeade and apparate, Hermione rushed through the entry doors and out into the night air, turning her head toward the Quidditch Pitch. She saw no blonde figure walking toward the broom sheds (where she herself had left her broom, as instructed), and therefore concluded that he must have headed for the dwarf village across the lake.  
  
Hermione started down the path with quick footsteps, but a voice stopped her before she made it ten feet.  
  
"In a bit of a hurry, are we?" asked the stranger and Hermione stopped mid- step, spinning around. A moment later, Draco stepped out of the shadows, a smirk adorning his otherwise flawless face. Hermione smiled embarrassedly, as if regretting her departure. Draco, always a gentleman, saved her the awkward chore of speaking. "I knew you wouldn't stay and watch Potter," he said, starting down the path, to which Hermione joined him. "Only an idiot would, and you are a bit off that, I would imagine."  
  
"Oh, how generous a compliment," Hermione noted sarcastically and crossed her arms. She had left her cloak with her broom and the night was less than tepid. Draco chuckled.  
  
"Have I given you more flattering?"  
  
"No reason to waste a perfectly good opportunity," she countered, smirking and giving a sidelong glance. Draco looked positively thrilled to be having such a conversation.  
  
"So very true," he said, but did not correct his injustice. Conversation was silent for a good few minutes, and it was not until the gates of the town came into view that Hermione spoke.  
  
"Where exactly are we going?" she asked, eyes trained on the gravel path. Draco shrugged.  
  
"Do you like Quidditch? I wouldn't mind catching the end of the second finals game," he suggested, head tilted slightly toward the sky.  
  
"That's tonight?" Hermione asked, sounding disappointed, and Draco nodded. "Oh, I was sure it was tomorrow... but now that you mention it, I doubt they'd have a game on Sunday. Especially with that strike the Ireland keeper... Kuppling, it was, put up last season about it being the Sabbath." Draco looked impressed.  
  
"Right you are. They've officially resigned Sunday games and practices, internationally. Therefore, as it would have been tomorrow night were it two years ago, it was changed," he informed as they stepped up to the gates, and opened the fence for his escort. Hermione granted him a tiny nod of thanks, and waited on the other side as he too entered the village.  
  
"The only place I know of to watch a Quidditch game is that shop in Diagon Alley, and I'm sorry, but I'm not apparating all the way to London this late at night," Hermione insisted, hugging herself, and Draco chuckled.  
  
"You know nothing. Come with me."  
  
Draco led Hermione through the deserted streets of Hogsmeade, past many a dark shop and toward one of the few still lit. What looked like a neon sign illuminated the entire section of the street with a hazy pink light, proclaiming the alehouse as the 'Thaumatoddy'. Upon closer inspection, Hermione noticed that the sign was in fact not neon, but torch flames, evidently charmed to spell out the word. Draco seemed proud to be leading her to such a place, but Hermione couldn't help but be wary; she was rethinking her decision to go off with him. He had claimed to have grown up and she had been prone to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the truth of the matter was, she was alone with a stranger in a near deserted town at eleven o'clock in the evening. Not one of her best decisions, by far.  
  
Draco walked with an air of confidence that almost worried her. He didn't seem to feel triumphant, however, and was by no means protective of her company. They were walking a good few feet apart, and had the need risen, she could easily have turned back and run off. These thoughts and the presence of her wand just inside her boot made Hermione feel a little better. However, as Draco stepped up to the door of the bar, she had to fight to keep from panicking.  
  
Her companion seemed not to notice the thoughts and fears plaguing Hermione. Draco had nothing to fear from her, and therefore was quite content with her company. She was by no means boring, and so was the perfect candidate for a last minute rendezvous. He gripped the steel handle of the tavern door and thrust it open, allowing a warm draft scented with alcohol and cigar smoke to blanket them. The five men inside, including the bartender, chorus an irritated 'Close the door!' and so, again, Draco allowed Hermione to enter first. She was much relieved at seeing nothing but gristly drunk men inside and smiled sweetly as she stepped into the taproom.  
  
The tavern was small and dirty, lined on all sides with a continuous bar. The four men sat in random places and only two seemed to be acquaintances. This left a completely open section of the counter for Draco and Hermione, who were quick to take seats.  
  
In her spell of paranoia, Hermione had forgotten all about the Quidditch game; the reason they had come to the bar in the first place. She remembered, however, when she took her seat at the bar. Like in the Diagon Alley Quidditch shop, the bar was built like a display case. The sides were made of some sort of blackened wood, but the counter top was a clear sheet of glass, below which stood a miniaturized Quidditch Pitch. And, inside, thousands of tiny fans watched the players fly about and play their positions. Immediately, Hermione leaned over the counter and watched, attempting to catch up on the standings.  
  
"Looks like America's leading Denmark by forty points," Draco said, sounding crestfallen, and Hermione sighed.  
  
"Good," she praised, eyes trailing the American seeker. Draco laughed aloud, surprised.  
  
"Don't tell me you're a Yankee! And I thought you intelligent," he said, shaking his head dejectedly, and Hermione smirked.  
  
"Of course not. I'm rooting for Bosnia and, as they won last weekend, I would prefer they play an ineffectual team. So for this game, yes, I'm all for America," she rationalized, eyes alive as she watched the little players, lip nestled between her teeth.  
  
"My mistake," Draco admitted. "But I'll have you know, the Denmark Deuces are my boys, and they're going to pummel the Yanks. After that, they'll do the same to your Black Swans."  
  
"Oh, aren't we sure," Hermione debated sarcastically, but Draco didn't lose his confidence.  
  
"I'd state my life on it," he reassured, but she didn't seem to be listening. A moment later, Hermione stood to her feet and leaned farther over the table.  
  
"Go, go, go!" she urged the little chaser and Draco turned his attention to the game, looking worried. They watched with bated breath as the little Denmark keeper, dressed in red and white, patrolled the hoops, dashing every which way. The American chaser switched the quaffle from his blue arm to his red, as per his uniform, and swept right under the keeper, flying directly through the hoop. The crowd cheered, as did Hermione and one of the other men in the bar. Draco looked deflated. "Ha! Now they're up by fifty. Good luck with your divination; I wouldn't quit your day job."  
  
"They'll make that up before midnight," he said passively, waving a hand in the air and keeping his eyes locked on the pitch. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"That sounds like a bet," she instigated, and Draco looked up. The tiny smirk on his face prompted Hermione to give a stiff nod. "You're on," she said, then lifted her hand. The bartender attended to them in a moment, hands wringing the water out of a cloth.  
  
"Yap," he acknowledged, voice slurred. Hermione smirked.  
  
"Ten cider shots," she ordered and Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise.  
  
"You sure about that, Missy?" the stalwart man questioned softly, as if she were a child. Hermione didn't look up from the game as she answered.  
  
"I believe it is your job to do my bidding, not ask me questions."  
  
Obviously impressed and slightly intimidated, the bartender did as requested, filling ten shot glasses with double hard pumpkin cider. He said nothing as he finished, and returned to his corner of the bar to continue scrubbing down the ale taps. Hermione, eyes alight, pushed five glasses toward Draco.  
  
"We'll take shots," she announced, as if her intentions weren't in any way obvious. "For each Yank goal, you'll go, as will I for every Deuce. If you're correct in your predictions, I should be sick as a dog in half an hour."  
  
"You sure about that, Missy?" Draco asked, mocking the bartender, and Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
"Fuck you," she mumbled just as the crowd cheered on the red and blue. Again the one Yankee fan in the corner howled his 'yahoo', and Hermione smirked evilly at Draco. "Well, well..."  
  
"Hey," Draco said, picking up one of the tiny green glasses, filled with a clear, orange liquid. "I said they'd make it up... never meant they wouldn't fall a bit more behind." Hermione laughed softly and nodded for him to take his drink. "Cheers," Draco gestured, then swallowed the glass in one gulp. Hermione smirked at the twist in his face. Evidently, he wasn't a heavy drinker. That or he'd never had a cider shot.  
  
Half an hour, six goals, and half a dozen shots later, Hermione was utterly smashed. Evidently, Draco had more insight than originally thought, as Denmark was now neck and neck with the Yankees. Hermione had finished her stocks and broken into his, never faulting in the game. In fact, Draco was growing a bit worried about her. He'd assumed she knew her limits, but evidently not; she was sloppy, disheveled, and loud, saying things he was pretty sure she didn't want him to know.  
  
"Hey..." he said, quite loudly, and Hermione took the two empty glasses away from her eyes, with which she had been exploring a world tinted green. She giggled airily, then hiccupped. Draco watched with amusement as she cocked her head on her hand, and blinked flirtatiously at him. Hermione looked ridiculous, and, what's more, she no doubt thought it made her more attractive. "Where do you live?" he asked, thinking ahead. In the state she was in now, he didn't trust her to fly home alone. Therefore, it was up to him as her escort to make sure she got there safely. Hermione, however, giggled again.  
  
"Anxious, are we?" she prompted, bobbing her eyebrows, and Draco dropped his head, laughing.  
  
"Where? Do you remember?" he asked again, and Hermione nodded over exaggeratedly.  
  
"Seventy-four Cushman, West Canterbury. Apartment 14D," she said, and Draco nodded. West Canterbury was the wizarding part of the village, and therefore he had nothing to fear when flying her home. "Are we leaving now?" she asked, excited, and he sighed, shaking his head.  
  
"No, not yet. When the game is over," he told her, and Hermione looked deflated, shifting her stool closer to him and letting her head fall onto his chest. Draco, quite amused by her antics, draped an arm over her shoulders, if only to humor her, while he noted her address on a napkin.  
  
"You know what, Draco?" Hermione asked, and Draco sighed.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"You smell nice," she said, and he couldn't help but to smile again.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"You know what else?" 

  
"What else?"  
  
"You have a cute arse," Hermione said, as if proud of him. At this, Draco laughed out loud.  
  
"Again, thank you."  
  
"You know who else has a cute arse?"  
  
"Potter?" he guessed, but Hermione made a face and shook her head, then pointed at the miniature pitch.  
  
"That one. Number thirteen," she corrected, giggling, and Draco smiled.  
  
"Valdez? He's the Denmark seeker, though... you're rooting for the Yankees," he reminded her and Hermione shrugged overdramatically.  
  
"That doesn't mean he can't have a cute arse," she said, watching the little man on a broom. All at once, he swept quickly toward the bottom of the pitch, and Hermione gasped, as if she had really been a foot away from him. "What's he doing?" she exclaimed and Draco bent over the table, moving a few of the shot glasses to get a better view.  
  
"I think... yes! He saw the snitch, see? There... he got it! Ha, I told you we'd trounce you," he cheered, hugging her in excitement. Hermione laughed at his glee and joined in the celebration, although her team had been defeated. When the cheering died down and the other men in the bar began to file out, Hermione looked elated.  
  
"Can we go home now?" she asked Draco, who was watching his Deuces make a victory lap around the field. He looked up innocently, to see Hermione staring with her bottom lip protruding and eyelids fluttering. He smiled and sighed.  
  
"Yes, we can. I'll take you home," he said. "Did you fly?" Hermione nodded three times, then jumped off her bar stool and giggled as her pumps clicked on the floor. Draco shook his head and paid the man for their drinks, leaving three completely untouched, and took Hermione's arm, leading her from the tavern. "Come on," he said, "We've got to get your broom, then."  
  
They stepped outside, to a one o'clock much colder than the previous eleven. Hermione, now with no shame to be doing so, buried herself into Draco for his warmth, and he allowed her to do so, feeling slightly guilty that he had been the cause of her delusional state.  
  
When they reached the center of town and both Hogwarts and the broom sheds where in view, Draco pulled a wand from his pocket and pointed it toward the pitch. Hermione, however, stopped him.  
  
"I can do that," she stated proudly, bending to pull her wand from her boot without any regard to Draco's view from behind her. He hardly minded. "Azzio boom-boom... Azzio cloakey," she slurred slightly, and nothing happened. To humor her, Draco repeated her spells correctly, and Hermione squealed as she saw both her broom and cloak floating toward her. She clapped her hands. "See? I told you so." Hermione put on her cloak and did the first button while Draco caught her broom. He placed it parallel to the ground and waited for it to levitate. "Draco, we should just go pop... it's too cold to fly. Plus there could be birds." Draco chuckled.  
  
"I'm not letting you apparate like that. You could end up in Timbuktu or somewhere equally preposterous," he said, and swung his leg over the wooden shaft. He himself had apparated, as it would be much quicker, and therefore had no broom of his own to use. "Come on, sit in front of me. Don't want you falling asleep and sliding off," he said, beckoning her. Hermione smirked seductively and sauntered over to him, pausing at key moments. Draco, only mildly amused by her attempt to turn him on, simply sat stiff and still. She, contrary to his intentions, seated herself facing him, and slid her hands around his midsection, holding him close to her. Draco shook his head slightly and sighed. "Ready?" Hermione nodded, resting her head under his chin. Draco placed an arm around her to steady them both as he took off, heading straight for London.  
  
He landed in front of the apartment complex written on his napkin about twenty minutes after leaving Hogsmeade. Draco gently shook Hermione, as he had no intention of carrying her to her floor. She blinked her eyes slowly and squinted at the streetlamp just above them. A moment later, she smirked, recognizing him.  
  
"Hey..." Hermione said huskily, rubbing her hands up his back. Draco chose to ignore her advances; he'd had a thought on the way, and his questions needed answering.  
  
"Are you married?" he asked, almost sternly, supporting her as he removed the broom from under them. Hermione grinned and slid her hands from below his cloak to the back of his neck.  
  
"Aw..." she said silkily, brushing her nose against his. "You're so cute." Draco pulled her arms from around his neck and asked again, "Are you married?"  
  
Hermione pouted at being shut down and shook her head.  
  
"I haven't had sex since my freshman year at collage," she admitted, looking sad, but perked up as she remembered she was with a man at that moment in time. "But you'll hardly notice, I haven't lost my touch; I've been practicing." At this, Draco burst out laughing, confusing Hermione, but she grinned nonetheless.  
  
"That's good to know," he said, slinging her broom over his shoulder and using his other arm to support her, as she wasn't very steady on her feet. "Do you live with anyone?" he asked, just to be safe. He really didn't want to be the bloke to go home with a drunken bird only to meet up with her boyfriend at the front door. Hermione shook her head, then nodded, grinning drunkenly throughout. Draco sighed. "Do you or don't you?"  
  
"Yes... but she has her own room. Don't worry," Hermione again reassured, and he sighed, dragging her toward the building.  
  
"If it's a she, I'm not worried," he told her as he opened the door, and Hermione giggled softly, reversing their roles and pulling him through the lobby. An elderly woman was sitting in a chair beside a door labeled 'Laundry Room' and reading a newspaper. She looked up as they entered, and Draco smiled at her, but as Hermione was pulling him behind her, stumbling whenever the floor changed levels, the old woman saw nothing admirable about him. She scowled and turned back to her paper, minding her own business, and Draco hurried his step, wanting to get Hermione home and in the care of whomever lived with her before he saw anyone else.  
  
They entered the lift as another couple filed out, looking at them strangely. Draco gave them an apologetic look, as if ashamed of Hermione's behavior, and willed them to get to her floor without any further interruptions. He pushed the button marked 'D' and waited the thirty seconds it took to reach the requested level. Hermione fawned over him throughout this time, watching him through parted lids, hugging his arm, and twisting locks of his hair. For the most part, Draco tried to ignore it. Bits and pieces he let himself enjoy, but otherwise kept his dignity.  
  
Without asking Hermione if she had a key, Draco knocked on the door of her apartment. She crinkled her eyebrows in confusion.  
  
"Hey..." she said softly. "Don't do that... you'll wake Faye." Draco did not heed her words; he knocked again, and was greeted within minutes by a blurry-eyed blonde woman of about seventeen. She couldn't have been more than a year out of school.  
  
"Hermione?" she asked groggily, blinking the sleep from her eyes and reaching to scratch between the big pink curlers in her hair. Hermione pouted.  
  
"Hi Faye. Go away," she said, pushing past the blonde girl and pulling Draco along with her.  
  
"What?" Faye asked, utterly confused as she closed the door behind them. "What's going on?" Hermione ignored her and instead spoke to Draco.  
  
"Come on... my room's this way," she whispered, pulling him as she walked backward toward a hallway. Draco, however, stopped her and pushed her down onto the couch. Hermione giggled maniacally, hugging a throw pillow. Draco turned back to Faye, who was watching the scene with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed over her chest.  
  
"She's very drunk," he explained, as if the girl were five years old. She laughed once, however, and started down the hallway Hermione had tried to persuade Draco to travel down.  
  
"I can see that... guy I don't even know who is for some reason is standing in my living room," she muttered, disappearing into one of the rooms. At first, Draco had thought she'd gone back to bed and sighed, attempting to attend to Hermione. He knelt beside the couch and waited until she stopped giggling.  
  
"That was fun," she said, then paused a moment before pitching forward and pressing her lips to his. She was very demanding, and Draco was so surprised he let her kiss him for a moment, but pushed her away quite quickly. Hermione looked absolutely devastated. "What?"  
  
"You're drunk," Draco told her, but Hermione shook her head.  
  
"No... just woozy," she said, attempting to continue their interlude, but Draco had the foresight to stop her this time.  
  
"It's late," he countered softly. "Lie down... there we are." Hermione did as she was told, holding a childlike and continuous look of confusion on her face. "Now go to sleep," he instructed. "You'll have a bit of a headache in the morning." Hermione, as he stood up, was quick to pull herself onto her elbows.  
  
"You're leaving?" she asked, sounding deeply sad, and Draco couldn't help but smile at her.  
  
"Of course I am. You don't even know me."  
  
"When will you come back?" she asked so innocently, Draco couldn't deny her the answer she wanted.  
  
"Maybe tomorrow, to see how you're feeling?" he suggested, and a smile lit her face. As Draco shared her gaze, another presence in the room made itself known. Faye cleared her throat and Draco turned to her, noticing a vile of a greenish liquid he assumed to be a sleeping draft.  
  
"I think you should go now," Faye said, eyeing him curiously. Draco nodded and disappeared into thin air, making Faye cringe and Hermione frown. The younger girl sighed. "Here, Manny. Drink this; we'll talk tomorrow... whenever the buzzing in your ears allows it." 

-----------------

A/N: I have taken the not-so-quick liberty of editing these chapters and reuploading them without the bothersome author's notes. No one reads those anyway. Reviews would still be nice. 


	2. Unwonted Wonders

Theretofore on GG:  
  
"When will you come back?" she asked so innocently, Draco couldn't deny her the answer she wanted.  
  
"Maybe tomorrow, to see how you're feeling?" he suggested, and a smile lit her face. As Draco shared her gaze, another presence in the room made itself known. Faye cleared her throat and Draco turned to her, noticing a vile of a greenish liquid he assumed to be a sleeping draft.  
  
"I think you should go now," Faye said, eyeing him curiously. Draco nodded and disappeared into thin air, making Faye cringe and Hermione frown. The younger girl sighed. "Here, Manny. Drink this; we'll talk tomorrow... whenever the buzzing in your ears allows it."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Chapter 2: Unwonted Wonders  
  
"Good morning, sunshine," Faye replied in response to a groan heard from the couch. She was sitting in the small kitchen of their flat, reading a paper and stirring her mug of coffee while Hermione shifted and made her discomfort clear.  
  
"Faye? What time is it?"  
  
"Ten. But it's Sunday, don't go all -flight of the bumblebee I've got to get ready for work- on me. In fact, I'd go back to sleep. I can't imagine you feel overly chipper," she suggested distractedly, eyes locked on her London Times. Hermione sat up and placed a hand to her temple, blinking against the light.  
  
"What the hell did you do to me?" she accused, cradling her head. "I feel like I've been obliviated..." Hermione suddenly lifted her head, gaze targeted at her quiet friend. "I haven't, have I? Who was it? I'll kill the bastard..."  
  
"Good Merlin, are we jumpy," Faye voiced while picking a bit of granola from her teeth with a blood red fingernail. "As far as I know, you're just hung over. Of course, I wasn't there, so I can't verify that... but that guy you came home with was. Ask him."  
  
"What?" Hermione asked, confused.  
  
"I told you your head would ring," Faye mumbled, flipping the page to read on about politics.  
  
"What... guy?" her roommate repeated, sounding quite eager and interested for her previous mood. Faye shrugged.  
  
"I don't know... some blonde bloke; quite cute. Nice arse. Seemed like a good one; brought you home, after all."  
  
"Nice arse? Oh, Lord," Hermione groaned. She suddenly recalled everything; the reunion, Harry and Blaise, Malfoy and the pub; the endless shots. "Did I try to... you know?"  
  
"Oh, blimey, yes. Frightened the chap, I'd wager. You were all but ready to jump in the sack with him," Faye confirmed, turning her gaze for the first time to Hermione, looking slightly sympathetic. The latter looked terrified.  
  
"Well, we didn't. Thank Merlin for that, at least," Hermione said, sighing and dropping her head into her hands again. It felt a little less weighted that way.  
  
"So..." Faye teased. "Am I going to get an explanation? After all... you did wake me in the middle of the night, stone pissed, and with a boy to be rid of, no less." Hermione groaned again and fell back onto the couch, burying her head in a pillow and covering it with her meager afghan, exposing her calves.  
  
"Not now, Faye," she whined. "I can hardly move."  
  
"Well, that's your own bloody fault, isn't it? At least tell me who that was. I'd like his number, if you're done with him."  
  
Hermione remained silent and Faye, who was not about to give up so easily, made the journey to the sofa and knelt beside it.  
  
"Manny!" she yelled, an inch or so from her ear. Hermione jumped and let out a strangled sound, covering her ears from the wailing.  
  
"Not so loud..." she pleaded, not daring to raise her voice above a whisper. Faye grinned.  
  
"What was that?" she asked, voice a few decibels higher than her roommate would have liked. "I couldn't hear you! Speak up!"  
  
"All right; all right. Stop yelling; please," Hermione begged, peeking out from below the blanket. Faye grinned.  
  
"Always works," she boasted, in a mocking whisper and Hermione didn't bother to even pretend to be amused. "So," she continued. "Who is this mystery savior?" Hermione sighed.  
  
"His name is Draco Malfoy; we went to school together. That's it."  
  
"Ha," Faye exclaimed, shifting on the floor as to be comfortable for the long explanation she would force if need be. "Yes, of course that's all. You can most definitely get smashed in the Hogwarts Great Hall. Oh, I know, I've been there... and of course, some old school chum would take you home. Have your address pinned to your shirt, did you?" Hermione blinked sharply. Her head was pounding, ears wringing, body insisting sleep, and Faye wasn't helping in the slightest.  
  
"We were talking and decided to go out. There was a Quidditch game tonight... and you know how I get. Let's just say I put a little too much money on America," she explained, hoping it would be enough to calm her poking friend, but Faye was far from satisfied.  
  
"Betting shots again? You know you shouldn't; you always seem to lose when you bet shots."  
  
"I know... but we were up by forty points, and then fifty..."  
  
"Honestly, Hermione... America? They were playing the Deuces, correct? Obviously, they _let_ them get ahead so they'd take their guard down. It's a trick as old as Quidditch itself! I bet this Dray guy knew that... he duped you, love," Faye said, sighing as she stood up, and Hermione sat straight.  
  
"I hadn't even thought of that," she admitted, then shook her head. "I'm so confused..." Faye smirked.  
  
"About Quidditch? It's very simple. First, the better team decides to slack off for an hour or two..."  
  
"No, no, no; about Malfoy. How did I get home?"  
  
"He brought you here," Faye said, making her way back toward the kitchen. "On your broom; brought you up, and told me you were drunk, as if I was a blind badger or something, and then I told him to leave, and he did. You weren't too happy; made him promise to come visit this morning." Hermione nodded, remembering bits and pieces of the night before and fitting them together.  
  
"I can't believe I said that," she groaned, voice as if her words had drained of energy. Faye nodded.  
  
"You did. I don't know if he'll really come; I think you scared him off. Do you want coffee or anything?"  
  
Hermione let herself fall back into the couch, neglecting to answer her flat mate. Faye didn't ask again.  
  
-x- -x- -x-  
  
Draco Malfoy felt a certain wave of nausea as he appeared in a phone booth down the street from Hermione's home. He was nervous, and furthermore, had no idea why he was even coming back. He didn't particularly want to instigate an awkward conversation, which she probably didn't want to have, but he felt a certain pull to keep his promises. He was now regretting ever even coming inside; he could have done without the unexpected, but not unwelcome kiss that, although she tasted like stale pumpkin juice and alcohol, was also not unpleasant. Of course, he'd rather not have witnessed the entire ordeal in which Hermione was portrayed a little more desperately than she was suited to.  
  
All in all, the only thing bringing him back was his verbal misgivings. Had he just shoved her at her friend and taken off, there would have been no obligation. Draco had never so much as thought on that the night before, and although he regretted it, it could have been worse; he could have been hammered too.  
  
After a deep breath, Draco made the trip from the phone post to her building, then across the pale blue porch that led to the front door. It was lined with wicker chairs that, at noon that late August day, held only one occupant. Draco passed without care, only to realize seconds later that it was his muddled maiden who sat solitary on the terrace, wrapped in a quilt and shutting out the world.  
  
After assuring himself that he needed to speak with her, if just for a moment, as promised, Draco approached. Hermione was obviously trying very hard not to hear anything and was startled by his sudden presence as he sat beside her. She peeked over the blanket and a deep blush crept into her cheeks. All attempts to hide it with her covering were futile, as Draco's sheepish grin proved him just as embarrassed as she.  
  
"Draco," she instituted, remaining businesslike. He gave a slight nod and reciprocated her greeting.  
  
"Hermione. Feeling better?" he asked affably, and she smiled at his tone, nodding softly. "Good."  
  
"Let's... not avoid the subject," Hermione suggested. "I first want to apologize, immensely, for... well, everything. I am the most suggestive drunk in the Eastern hemisphere. And blunt about it, too."  
  
"Oh, come now," he teased, to lighten the unbearably gloomy mood. Hermione seemed overly serious, and Draco saw no reason for it. "You're not all that bad. Amusing, to say the least." She squealed softly and buried her face into the blanket.  
  
"I can't believe some of the things I said to you..." she moaned miserably, and Draco lifted his eyebrows.  
  
"I can't believe you remember."  
  
"Another of my drunken gifts; I remember everything, almost perfectly. So much for naivety, hm?" Hermione shared and Draco looked amused, but did not comment. They lapsed into silence for a few moments, facing anywhere but toward each other. "Draco," Hermione then started, voice soft. He turned to her eagerly, relieved at the break in awkward peace. "Thank you. I acted very irresponsibly last night, and I want to thank you not only for not taking advantage of that, but also for taking care of me. I was lucky to have you there." She refused to make eye contact with him and Draco knew she was embarrassed. He smiled amusedly at the thought, and gave a soft nod.  
  
"I'm glad you realize that," he agreed. "I take it this sort of thing isn't trite in your everyday?" Hermione shook her head viciously.  
  
"No, of course not. I have no idea what came over me... and not only the drinking either. I don't know why I didn't realize they were feinting and I don't know why I went off with you; I hardly know you. In fact, I don't even know why I _went_ to the bloody reunion. I didn't want to, not really. Maybe just to see Hogwarts again... but even that lost its touch when Harry ditched me."  
  
"Well, I take some blame for getting you pissed," Draco threw into the conversation, and gained himself a puzzled look from Hermione. "I _did_ know they were feinting," he explained and Hermione rolled her eyes, turning her face away again.  
  
"Didn't the whole bloody world?" she asked spitefully and Draco chuckled. Hermione turned back to him at this, not nearly as surprised as she would have been six years ago. He was grinning at her, eyes a deep and sparkling silver, jovial as he took humor from her sarcasm. Draco was definitely not the same prat of a spoilt rich-boy she'd come to know and hardly love. Something had changed him, but she was ready and willing to give up all rights of knowledge just to preserve this Draco, with his sparkling eyes and deep laughter. "Draco," Hermione asked as he calmed his hearty chortles and he sighed in comfort at the situation, swinging an arm to lie across the top of their whicker bench for two.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Why did you come back?" she asked, and he paused for a moment.  
  
"Well, I promised I would, didn't I?" he explained, but Hermione was far from satisfied.  
  
"You didn't know I'd remember. No one would have missed a thing had you not," she reminded him, crossing her arms about her chest as if in victory. Draco shrugged.  
  
"I like to keep my promises," he said. "And take responsibility for my actions. It was just as much my fault as yours that you came home like that; it's the least I could do to drop by and make sure there was no permanent damage."  
  
"How thoughtful," Hermione agreed, with the tiniest hint of sarcasm. Draco smirked at her, but she simply shook her head.  
  
"May I ask you a question, now?" Draco asked, sweetly, and Hermione shrugged a shoulder, tying her blanket tighter around her neck. He smiled. "What are you doing out here?"  
  
"Faye was studying too loudly," she answered immediately, and Draco laughed again.  
  
"Studying too loudly?"  
  
"Yes. I have a bit of cranial hemorrhaging, or something equally as painful, and she just kept flipping page after page; I could have shot her," Hermione explained, eyes narrowed at a floorboard and gaze hot. Draco shook his head.  
  
"That's it?" he asked, skeptically. "She was just turning pages too loudly?"  
  
"Well... there was something else," she admitted.  
  
"And?" Draco prompted.  
  
"Well... Faye sort of has an... obsession with any male under the age of thirty, and it doesn't help that you're cute. I didn't want her to see you, if you did come back. It'd be a nightmare for both of us," she clarified, and Draco again succumbed to laughter.  
  
"She didn't seem to care much for me last night," he pointed out, and Hermione nodded.  
  
"It was the middle of the night, Draco; she's not an early riser. Faye _did_ ask me all about you this morning; for your number and everything."  
  
"Really? What did you tell her?"  
  
"I told her you were a no-good, dirty-rotten wanker and would date her, do her, and dump her all in a day. Of course, I don't know that; in fact, I don't even think it in the slightest; I did it for your own good. You don't want to get mixed up with her; she's very... clingy."  
  
"Well, then," Draco replied, as if proved wrong. "I suppose I owe you thanks. I should get going; I just wanted to come by, as promised; I've got some work to do. No Sabbath for a businessman." As he stood, Hermione's eyebrow rose with him.  
  
"What kind of business?" she asked suspiciously, half expecting him to tell her it was confidential, or blurt something about the dark arts. Draco, however, flipped the end of his scarf over his shoulder, grinning at her.  
  
"Antiques," he stated almost proudly, unsurprised at Hermione's reaction; her left brow joined her right and her eyes sparked with interest.  
  
"Really?" she wondered in awe, and Draco nodded. "That's... not what I expected," she admitted and he grinned.  
  
"I promised my grandmother on her death bed that I'd make good use of her belongings. I did as told, and along the way, a certain handcrafted cedar caldron caught my fancy. I did my research, got twice the worth for it, and found my true calling."  
  
"My congratulations," Hermione offered. "I've been looking into ports for that boat." Draco offered nothing in return but a smile and a tiny paper card. He held it out to her, and Hermione freed it from the grasp of his fingers, perplexed.  
  
"My number," he explained. "For Faye. What kind of man would I be if I didn't at least give her a chance?" Hermione lifted an eyebrow at him. "Of course, if you can think of someone more suited for my company, do feel free to share." With an exaggerated wink, Draco disappeared.  
  
Hermione sighed after him and turned her eyes to the paper card. It was decorated with a shiny green boarder of ivy, and written in an elegant black script were the words 'Unwonted Wonders, in it for the memories. Just ring Dray, night or day', followed by two phone numbers; one for the store, and one for his home. Draco seemed very into his business, and Hermione was impressed.  
  
"Hey, Hermione... oh, Draco! I didn't..." chimed a voice, just seconds before Faye burst onto the porch. Hermione winced, but she pouted. "Aw, where'd he go? I know he was here..."  
  
"You just missed him, Faye," Hermione told her, discreetly slipping the card into the waistband of her pants and standing from the bench, blanket draped around her like a cape. Faye placed her hands to her hips.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me he was coming?"  
  
"I don't see how it's any of your business, honestly, love..." Hermione defended, speaking softly and starting back toward the lobby. Faye sighed heatedly.  
  
"Well, you knew I wanted to meet him properly," she whined. "When's he coming back?" Hermione laughed.  
  
"How should I know? I barely know the man; he just wanted to make sure I was all right, and apologize for letting me smash myself. That's all. I wouldn't expect to hear from him again, Faye. Don't get your hopes up."  
  
Hermione disappeared into the dimly lit entry room of her building, and Faye was left to herself on the porch, a pout to her lips and her arms crossed, convinced her roommate was conspiring against her in every imaginable way.  
  
-x- -x- -x-  
  
It had been a week since Draco had visited, and Hermione had neither heard from nor contacted him. The little white business card was nestled safely in the frame of her bedroom mirror; just below her golden-trio graduation picture, and just above the last note her most recent boyfriend had sent her. It had expressed his views toward their relationship, was all in all rather hurtful, and had caused their breakup, but Hermione still kept it, as a daily reminder that people are not always as they seem.  
  
Due to this, as she brushed her hair each morning, Hermione was thrown into thoughts of both men; first Gale, uncovering old and nearly forgotten pain, then to Draco. Of course, Gale's letter so close to Draco's card could only mesh and spark uncertainty about her newest fancy. Draco seemed like everything anyone could ever want; he was attractive, funny, gentle, caring... and single. But, he held his past over him like a rain cloud. Hermione couldn't help but have doubts; Gale had been everything Draco was when they first met, except perhaps gentle, and he had changed as their relationship progressed; his bad qualities got worse, and his good qualities got better. He may have yelled and threatened, but he would always apologize and comfort.  
  
Hermione found herself imagining Draco turning back to his former self, leaving his charming and debonair persona behind. The thought made her shiver, and refrain from calling him. Hermione could admit that she felt an attraction with Draco; no sparks, or fireworks per say, but she definitely wouldn't mind spending more time with him. He was on her mind constantly, popping up every so often to comment on something. She thought of him every morning, as she drank her pumpkin juice (alcohol free, of course), whenever she saw a Quidditch shop or player or game, and whenever Faye mentioned her newest prey.  
  
"Manny," called Faye as she appeared in the doorway. Hermione slowly brought the brush to lie on the dark wood countertop of her dresser, and turned her eyes from her reflection.  
  
"Yeah?" she answered, and Faye's passive attitude became more focused. She smirked and leaned her shoulder against the doorframe.  
  
"Why don't you just _call_ him?" she asked, shaking her head, and Hermione's brow furrowed.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Blondie," Faye answered, speaking of Draco. Hermione frowned and shook her head, looking down at the dresser top, where Draco's business card rested, surrounded at great lengths by various makeup and hair accessories. "Why not?" Faye prodded. "You know you want to." Hermione heaved a heavy sigh and picked up the card, bringing it close to her nose. She then glanced up at the mirror and let her eyes focus on Gale's letter. Her lips tightened and she shook her head determinedly, tossing the card at her roommate.  
  
"No I don't. You call him; he told me to give it to you, anyway."  
  
Faye squealed and attacked the tag, which lay upside down on the carpet.  
  
"Really? He said that?" she asked, holding the card gently as if it were a child. Hermione tore her eyes from her mirror and flopped down on her bed, hugging her pillow.  
  
"Yeah. Tell him I said hello."  
  
Behind Hermione's back, Faye's grin fell. She slowly began to shake her head and stood, placing the card on the bed table.  
  
"No... You're lying. You don't really want me to have this," she said, voice soft, and Hermione shook her head, digging it into the pillow.  
  
"Why wouldn't I? I don't need him. I don't need anyone. I _want_ to be alone; I can buy a trailer and about sixteen cats. I'll be fine," Hermione insisted. Faye chuckled softly and shook her head.  
  
"You've got to stop comparing everyone to Gale; he's not the world, Hermione."  
  
"He was to me," she whispered, and her roommate sighed, her smile forgotten.  
  
"But he was no good for you; for anyone. This guy is different; he's obviously not a drunk, he cared more about you that first night than Gale ever did, in my opinion, and he has yet to even raise his voice to you. That's three for three... he deserves at least a chance, don't you think?"  
  
"Faye, you have no idea what you're talking about. You don't know Draco, and you didn't know Gale. Plus, you're nineteen; how much experience can you possibly have had?" Hermione voiced, and Faye grew rigged.  
  
"How many real dates have you had in the last six years? One night stands don't count," she demanded, and Hermione sighed, rolling on her back to face her.  
  
"Just Gale; you know that. What are you on about?"  
  
"Well, in that case, I have one entire relationships' less experience than you, in the matter. Plus, if my sources are correct, I dated a lot more in school than you did, Miss Head Girl. Don't treat me like I'm inferior, or naïve. You're just as," she said, defending herself, and Hermione sighed.  
  
"All right, I'm sorry; but this is off-topic. I'm not quite over Gale yet, and I don't want a relationship, especially not with Malfoy. So, take it or leave it, I don't care; but I'm not going to call him," she repeated, and Faye groaned, sitting down beside her.  
  
"Manny! Why are you so stubborn? How do you think Blondie feels right now, huh? He's probably wallowing in rejection, sitting in the corner of his little dusty antique shop, pouring over your yearbook. You've probably broken his heart. Maybe he's lost the confidence to ever pursue anyone again, and he's so attractive... only someone shallow would pursue him, anyone else would shy away. He'll have heartbreak after heartbreak and live his life in misery, all because of you," Faye insinuated, and Hermione laughed.  
  
"Don't you think you're overreacting, just a bit?"  
  
"I don't know, am I? Gale wrote you one letter, and you've been miserable and withdrawn every since. Who's to say you haven't done the same thing to Blondie? It's possible, Hermione. Do you want to live with that guilt? At _least_ go out on one date... if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out; at least he won't have to feel completely dumped and degraded."  
  
"Are you _trying_ to make me feel bad?" Hermione asked, sitting up and drawing her knees to her chest. She had always been very permeable to the thoughts of others, and Faye's words were hitting home. Faye was right; she _was_ miserable, and there was a slight chance she was doing the same thing to Draco; a man who had merely shown interest in her. Needless to say, it hurt.  
  
"Yes, if that'll make you realize what you're doing. You're passing up a golden opportunity."  
  
"If I promise to go out on one date with him, provided he agrees, will you lay off?" Hermione asked, and Faye grinned triumphantly.  
  
"I give you my word."  
  
"Fine," Hermione groaned, and Faye squealed.  
  
"You have to give me details," she reminded, and Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
"I'd never get any sleep if I didn't."  
  
Faye gave a nod and got up to leave, but just as she reached the open door, Hermione called back to her.  
  
"Faye?" she asked, and the blonde girl turned back. "If I may... why didn't you just take him?"  
  
"He likes _you_, love."  
  
"You don't know that. And you've never been one to give up a good man for someone else's better interests; especially that man's," Hermione recalled, and Faye smirked.  
  
"Well, there is the matter of his name," she said, and Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "Dray? Faye? We'd never work out."

---eak,in school than you did, mefrown. The younger girl sighed. ers and reuploading them without the bothersome a--------------------------------

A/N: If you noticed, I changed all the names, so they should make sense now. And hey! I'm using italics! Woo!


	3. Barstool Confessional

Theretofore on GG:  
  
"If I promise to go out on one date with him, provided he agrees, will you lay off?" Hermione asked, and Faye grinned triumphantly.  
  
"I give you my word."  
  
"Fine."  
  
Faye gave a nod and got up to leave, but just as she reached the open door, Hermione called back to her.  
  
"If I may... why didn't you just take him?"  
  
"He likes _you_, love."  
  
"You don't know that. And you've never been one to give up a good man for someone else's better interests; especially that man's," Hermione recalled, and Faye smirked.  
  
"Well, there is the matter of his name," she said, and Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "Dray? Faye? We'd never work out."  
  
-x- -x- -x-  
  
Chapter 3: Barstool Confessional  
  
Hermione woke at the crack of ten AM on Wednesday, a week and three days after her afternoon rendezvous with Draco. She took a shower and spent an hour doing her hair, only to be completely unsatisfied and venture to the lavatory to wash it again. When she was finally content with her locks and her looks, she made a break across the living room. Faye was studying again, sitting cross-legged on the sofa and bent over a textbook. Realizing that the blonde's back was to her, Hermione took off her rusty brown oxfords and tip toed across the plush carpet in only her socks. Just as she reached the door and turned the knob, feeling confidant and home free, a suspicious voice halted her.  
  
"Where are you sneaking off to? And dressed like that?" Faye asked, resting her chin on an arm folded over the couch.  
  
"What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?" Hermione snapped before realizing it, and tucked in her chin to view her casual ensemble. Faye laughed.  
  
"No need to get defensive; it's just odd to see you wearing something other than black. I assume you're not going to work, then?" she asked, lifting and eyebrow, and Hermione shook her head, seating herself on the carpet and replacing her shoes.  
  
"I'm going to see... if I can replace our barstools," she said, more fluently than she'd expected, and gestured to the breakfast bar. Faye pouted.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm incapable of decoding your illusive street-lingo..."  
  
Hermione smirked and tied her second shoe with flourish.  
  
"It means exactly what I said. That's where I'm going. Now, if you'll excuse me," she said, standing from her seated position and withdrawing her coat from the hook by the door. "I have a man to see about some chairs. Do have fun in class." Faye scrunched her nose in annoyance and waited until Hermione left before sticking her tongue out at the door and going back to her work.  
  
-x- -x- -x-  
  
Hermione sighed as she closed the door behind her and buttoned her coat as she walked toward the lift. She felt only slightly bad about lying to Faye; she hadn't really been dishonest, just opaque. Faye would decode her plans and berate her with questions when she returned; Hermione simply hadn't wanted the inquisition before she left. She'd had enough trouble gaining the confidence to leave. She didn't necessitate Faye losing it for her.  
  
Hermione braced herself against the burst of cold air that met her at the front door and hurried down the porch steps before promptly disappeared with an echoing crack. When she regained awareness of her surroundings, Hermione's eyebrows were buried in her hair. In front of her was a brick building, like a small factory, with two levels, a thousand windows, and a peeling, painted sign above the front doors. Just as she began to wonder if she'd come to the wrong place, Hermione was calmed by the tarnished words on the notice board; 'Unwonted Wonders.'  
  
With one final deep breath, she marched toward the café appropriate doors. As she made to enter, a stalwart woman with a scowl and too much pink lipstick burst through the entryway. Hermione stepped back in surprise, and the lady glared at her, lips pursed in a tight line. The younger woman tried to remain unintimidated and smiling sweetly at her matron, cocking the door. The fedora-clad customer merely huffed and strode down the street, disappearing at the end of the boulevard. Shaking herself clear of the uneasy feeling in her stomach, Hermione finally entered the shop and turned back to see the bell above the door jingle. With a warm smile, she turned to take in the rest of the showroom, and was again surprised.  
  
It looked like a cluttered cottage, inhabited by both old and young. There were dressers, chairs, all sorts of furniture, a multitude of toys, caldrons, brooms, and even a section dedicated to Quidditch. Being an aficionado of the sport, Hermione made a beeline directly for this latter sector. There were maple beater bats, a hollow stone quaffle, collector's cards of men long retired, and an entire collection of wooden snitches, in various colors and decorations. She reached out to touch one, but its wings began to flutter and she quickly drew back, afraid of the damage it might do if provoked.  
  
Forcing herself to back away from the Quidditch supply, Hermione scanned the room, searching for any other form of life. A slowly moving ceiling fan caught her attention; just below it was a mahogany desk, complete with an American-made fifty's cash register. As she approached, Hermione noticed a little tea bell, and a note on the counter instructing to ring it for service. She smiled and did as she was told. Within seconds, there was a stomping noise from somewhere behind the wall she was facing and a voice soon accompanied it.  
  
"Mrs. Crichton, I _told_ you... I don't have any new..." bellowed Draco as he threw open the door behind the desk and stepped into the store room. He stopped short when he saw Hermione. "Blimey," he stated under his breath. "What are you doing here?" Hermione smirked and crossed her arms.  
  
"And I suppose you treat all your customers that way?" she teased and Draco shook his head as if to clear it.  
  
"I'm sorry, I... I'm just surprised. I was expecting..."  
  
"A Mrs. Crichton by the sound of it," Hermione finished and he nodded, eyes still locked on her face.  
  
"She's obsessed with doorknobs. Comes in at least once a day asking if I've gotten anything new. Sometimes even buys cabinets or armoires just for the doorknobs. For the life of me I don't know what she does with them... but enough about her. Are you here on business or... for something else?" Hermione smiled coyly.  
  
"To the point, aren't you?" she goad playfully and Draco lifted an eyebrow. "Maybe a bit of both," Hermione finally answered, and he smiled. "So, this is your store, hm?" she asked, turning back to the bulk of merchandise and avoiding his eyes, if for no other reason than to tease him.  
  
"Right you are," he boasted, stepping around the desk and smiling proudly. Hermione let her eyes travel around the room once more, then turned back to him with a little smile.  
  
"I like it. Again, not what I expected, but quaint nonetheless. And it looks so sterile from the outside. I rather like it better in here."  
  
"And I would have to agree with you," Draco said, watching her curiously.  
  
"What?" she asked softly, as if flattered by his stare, and he smiled coyly.  
  
"Well, either I'm reveling in your beauty, or I'm still trying to figure out why you're here." He paused. "Or both." 

"I'd have to say that's a better compliment than your last attempt," she said with a smile and took a step toward him, decreasing their distance only slightly. Draco kept his gaze on hers, as if he expected her continue, when in reality it was his turn to apply wit. Hermione grew noticeably more nervous, shifting her weight onto separate feet and letting her eyes dash about his face. It was obvious that she had no idea what to say. "Right... I've never been brilliant at this quixotic flirting etiquette. I'm not very avid," she admitted, eyes turning to the floorboards and waiting for his laughter. 

When it came, it was not mocking as she had expected, but cheerful. He chuckled and moved back behind the counter, flipping the little card over to read, 

The counter is closed. 

Please try back at a later hour. 

Thank you, 

Dray.

Hermione would have inquired about the untroubled shutdown of his shop, but Draco distracted her with conversation.  
  
"I'm glad you realize that, because you weren't fooling anyone," he informed, hands spread on the desk as he looked at her, leaning against it and twisted around to face him. Hermione blushed just over her cheekbones and turned away again.  
  
"Well, thanks for telling me before I made a complete arse out of myself," she replied sarcastically, and began re-buttoning her coat. Draco looked slightly confused and spoke up when she threw the end of her scarf over her shoulder.  
  
"Where are you going?" he asked, sounding disappointed, but Hermione shoved her hands into her pockets and lifted her chin at him.  
  
"I'm going to stop acting a mooncalf and leave you to your work. It was nice seeing you again, anyway," she granted, then nodded her head at him and turned toward the door. Draco came quickly around the counter and took her arm.  
  
"Hey, don't go off all mad at me..." he implored, turning her toward him, and Hermione kept her poker face.  
  
"Why not?" she demanded, showing nothing in regard the way he was making her feel, and Draco smiled the same sheepish smile he had the last time they'd met.  
  
"Because then you might not come back."  
  
Hermione tried to keep her countenance rigid, but the look on his face and the tone of his words forced a smile to creep onto her lips. Draco grinned.  
  
"Will you stay?" he asked, hopeful, and she sighed.  
  
"I suppose... since you've gone to the trouble of closing up just for me..." she joked, a quirk to her lips. Draco chuckled.  
  
"Brilliant. Come; I'll show you around," he said, unbuttoning the only button that managed to find its way back into a slot, and gentlemanly doffing the coat from her shoulders. He draped it over his arm and gestured for her to follow as he made his way to the door through which he'd previously entered.  
  
"Cor..." Hermione exclaimed as she stepped into the giant workroom, cluttered and messy with stains and supplies. Draco grinned at her reaction, watching as her eyes traveled the expanse of the walls, trying futilely to take in everything.  
  
"Bit of a change from the front, I know. Gives me a bit of personal space."  
  
"A bit? I'd say so," Hermione agreed, feeling dwarfed in the massive room. As promised, Draco explained the various sections outlined in the immense area and Hermione listened with more than mild interest. The majority of the building was dedicated to working; various tools and stains lined the walls, while piles of mismatched pieces and broken wood littered the floor. In another room, with air magically treated to be extra dry, stained and polished furniture was left to sit near a large fan. Upholstering was done in a completely separate section of the factory, filled with fluff and common fabric. Draco spoke with fervor as he explained why he felt it better to reupholster than to simply cover. Hermione was caught with his voice, simply through the passionate way he spoke.  
  
"You do all your own work?" she asked and Draco nodded enthusiastically, pointing to a chair, presently wet with paint stripper and waiting tender loving care.  
  
"It makes for full profit. I don't have workers, and I don't have a manufacturer. I just go out and buy things, bring them here, make them their best, and resell them for a higher price," he explained proudly, running his fingers along a freshly built and sanded chest of drawers. "Or I simply make them myself." Hermione seemed intrigued.  
  
"You make a living that way?" she asked skeptically and Draco chuckled.  
  
"Enough. I own this building and I live upstairs; I don't have anything to pay but utilities, and magic is free. A fairly boring existence, but it appeases me."  
  
"I think it sounds wonderful," Hermione praised, shaking her head at his accusation. "To have your own life; no boss, no paycheck, no constant fear of being fired... I envy you." Draco smiled amusedly, watching her as she inspected the stitching on a newly finished velvet sofa.  
  
"Surely it can't be that bad," he insisted, shaking his head as she gave him a skeptical look. "What do you do?" Draco asked then, as if her answer would prove some secret truth to his statement. Hermione seemed to regain herself; she stood more erect and tilted her chin slightly toward the ceiling.  
  
"I can't tell you," she stated. Draco lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"You can't tell me, or you simply won't?"  
  
"I can't," she repeated.  
  
"May I ask why?" Draco posed and she sighed slightly, half smiling.  
  
"I promised myself never to tell on a first date. The last time I did, something suddenly came up and I never got called," Hermione explained and Draco laughed aloud.  
  
"When did this become a date?" he asked in surprise, and Hermione smiled weakly.  
  
"When it served to get me out of obligation," she started and continued to Draco's bemused eyebrow. "I promised Faye I'd go out with you." Draco smirked.  
  
"So it's to get away from me? I'll pretend I didn't hear that," he said and Hermione lifted a finger, as if to correct him. "Never mind; I want to show you something," Draco interrupted, saving her the exertion of explanation. He held out his hand and Hermione tentatively took it, lifting an eyebrow at his smile. It grew at her acceptation and Draco tugged her gently, leading her to the back corner of the large workroom. Hermione followed willingly, careful to maneuver away from anything to which she might pose harm.  
  
In the far corner was a cement staircase, covered in a deep purple carpet that rolled down the levels like a tongue. Draco led Hermione directly up the runner and into the dark room beyond.  
  
"Draco..." she started hesitantly, but he waved a hand to dismiss her.  
  
"Don't worry," he said passively, dropping her tiny palm and taking a step back toward the door. Hermione watched him, eyes wide as to see in the darkness, assuming he was about to leave her. Draco stopped near the doorway and shifted a giant lever to a higher position. At once, the forest of industrial lights on the ceiling flickered on, illuminating the single room that occupied the entire floor. The space was filled with furniture, but distinct lines divided everything, as if made into wall-less rooms. There was a kitchen, small dining room, sitting room, and various rooms filled with assorted debris.  
  
"Electricity?" Hermione wondered, turning back to her host. Draco furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.  
  
"No, of course not. _Enchant_ricity."

  
"Ah," Hermione agreed, turning back to view the splendor before her.  
  
"What do you think?" Draco asked eagerly, as if he'd set his home up just for her.  
  
"A creative use of provides," she began, remaining professional as she let her eyes slide slowly across the room. "Pronounced dividing lines; cleanly living space. I applaud you, although it is a bit impersonal."  
  
"I hoped you might say that," Draco voiced from behind her and Hermione spun with a 'ha' on her lips.  
  
"You had no idea what I was going to say!" she accused and Draco lifted a shoulder, looking innocent.  
  
"No..., but I hoped you wouldn't like it; it gives me a chance to do this..." he explained and pushed a green button next to the lighting lever, causing a red one to jut underneath. A sound much like a truck in reverse pierced the air and a dozen deep purple drapes cascaded into the room, suspended on pipes near the ceiling and running toward the pole that acted as a midpoint. The curtains stopped in a meter wide circle surrounding the center pole, and the high-pitched sirens quieted. Hermione watched with awe written on her face and Draco viewed her with complacency.  
  
"So you do have taste, don't you, Draco?" she said when the curtains had slowed their sway and she was able to compose a thought. Draco's smirk grew.  
  
"As clearly anyone can see," he validated jokingly and Hermione modeled an amused smile.  
  
"How did you do that?" she asked with quiet curiosity and Draco stepped toward her and more into the room.  
  
"I rigged the pulley system. Of course, I could have simply charmed them... but had I been so rudimentary, I'd have lost your brilliant response," he explained coquettishly, smoothly sliding to stand in front of her. Hermione found herself slightly alarmed and glanced nervously at the floor. She regained herself quickly and met his gaze, smiling offhandedly. Draco kept their closeness for a moment, observing her, before backing up with a grin and moving toward the metal mast. "Come in, stay a while. Would you like something to drink?" he asked and Hermione responded with a smile. Draco grinned. "Just have a seat and I'll be back in a moment," he instructed before disappearing into the sea of royal purple. Hermione found herself calmed by his innocent enthusiasm and shook her head after him. She couldn't remember a time when she'd been so nervous and yet unafraid, but he seemed completely comfortable with her presence and proud of his surroundings. She envied him.  
  
Hermione wandered through the curtain-cut dial until she relocated the sitting room. As instructed, she settled herself on the rich toile sofa, visibly surprised at the heavenly feel of the cushions beneath her. As she grew more comfortable, the couch seemed to contour to her, relaxing as she did. By the time Draco returned, the numbing effects of settee had taken Hermione and she seemed overpowered by the heavy cushions. Draco laughed when he saw her, setting his cargo of bottles on the table in front of them.  
  
"Sorry," he said with half a smile, offering her a hand. Hermione grasped his palm and allowed him to help her out of the sofa's clutches. "I didn't make this one wonderfully well." Hermione looked surprised as she watched him sit beside her.  
  
"You made this?" she asked and Draco gave a swift nod as he uncapped the two frosty glass bottles, smiling contentedly at her.  
  
"Of course. I couldn't sell it," he explained, handing Hermione the prime of beverage selection. She took it slowly, holding the drink in chilled fingers.  
  
"Well, it is lovely," Hermione said in agreement, as if finalizing their exchange, but Draco laughed.  
  
"No, I mean I _couldn't_ sell it. No one wanted it. It sat downstairs for two months and I gave up and brought it up here. Actually, pretty much anything you see on this floor has been rejected," Draco explained, amused at her misinterpretation. Again, Hermione looked surprised.  
  
"Really? That's unjustified; I would buy this couch," she declared almost proudly, running her fingers over the fabric as if to comfort the soul of the furniture. Draco took a swig of his drink and smiled at her.  
  
"You say that as if you pity it," he accused and she laughed softly.  
  
"Well, maybe just a little," Hermione admitted, looking up from the woven cloth and focusing on Draco's face. He kept a warm smile plastered to his lips as if it were the most natural position for them; she assumed it was his constant interaction with people that brought about such a characteristic. As they shared a comfortable gaze, Hermione's eyes seemed to narrow in speculation and Draco lifted an eyebrow in response.  
  
"What?" he asked, making her look away.  
  
"I was wondering," Hermione began, pausing as she looked back up. "What did you think when I didn't call you?" Draco laughed out loud.  
  
"Honestly?" he asked, jolly in his flashback. Hermione offered him half a smile in return and Draco continued. "The moment I arrived back here I slapped myself," he admitted. "I gave you my business card, Hermione. Had you called, I would have been forced to meticulously consider your judgment." Hermione joined him in his humor.  
  
"And now that I've randomly showed up on your doorstep?" she asked with a funny smile and Draco laughed.  
  
"Well, I'm definitely surprised... As for your judgment? You did _try_ to leave. That must account for something," he answered, looking sheepish as he finished and training his eyes on the floorboards. Hermione, with nothing at mind to say, simply lapsed into silence. Draco stared at his spot on the floor and listened to the quiet, looking as if he didn't notice her next to him. When the seconds became minutes, Hermione sighed.  
  
"Maybe we should try idle chitchat?" she suggested, hoping to rise something out of him. Draco sat up straight, now paying attention to more than the hardwood, and shook his head.  
  
"If we have to do that, then even a friendship is beyond us. We are lost cause."  
  
"What makes you say that?" Hermione wondered, leaning back into the couch and glad to have moved on from such an embarrassing topic. Draco turned his head toward her, smiling sadly as if breaking bad news.  
  
"It's a proven fact. If you can't simply talk with someone, you have nothing in common. You'll hate each other before you realize it," he explained. "My own personal study." Hermione lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"Do you have six wives and a few dozen kids somewhere that I should know about?" she asked playfully and Draco laughed, shaking his head.  
  
"No; just a plethora of ex's. All of which seem to hate me more now than they ever loved me then."  
  
"Haven't you ever had _someone_ you didn't need to force yourself to talk to?" Hermione asked with a frown, feeling sorry for him though he didn't seem overly sad. Draco smiled half heartedly, leaning back into the couch and toying with the lip of his bottle.  
  
"Yes," he said. "You make a very good point. Maybe the problem isn't the talking... it's just my incompatibility with reality. Even those few I felt connected to view me with at least indifference. If I showed up unexpectedly, I wouldn't exactly receive a smile and inquisition of my well-being. That's what drove me to take you out last week; I invited myself to your one-woman party and you didn't turn me away. You didn't even make a snide remark; you acted as if we had had no history. Like I was nothing but a face you hadn't seen in a while... and I've been thinking about it ever since." Hermione was struck speechless at his admittance. She gaped noiselessly for a few moments before sighing and dropping her shoulders.  
  
"Draco, you can't say things like that," she scolded, sounding disenchanted, and he turned toward her, looking confused.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I couldn't possibly have responded in such a way to keep up the conversation. Before you know it, I'd be asking you about the weather; you're ruining us," she teased, and Draco smiled wholeheartedly.  
  
"You're something else, you know that?" he asked, shaking his head, and Hermione shrugged a shoulder.  
  
"So I've been told, but I've yet to validate any such thing."  
  
-x- -x- -x-  
  
Hermione tiptoed quietly through her apartment structure, trying not to make noise and disturb her neighbors. When she reached apartment 14D, she fished in her pocket for her key, then tried repeatedly to insert it in the dark. When the door finally unlocked, Hermione entered quietly and closed the door slowly to avoid any creaking. With a tiny sigh, she turned around and began to walk to her room, ready and willing to indulge in the covers. Just as she reached her bedroom door, a quintette of thin fingers latched onto her shoulder and spun her around.  
  
"Faye! Bloody hell, you scared me half to death!" she scolded in stage whisper upon facing a tight-faced blonde with hair in big curlers and green paste on her face. "And you look like the bloody hulk."  
  
"The what?" Faye asked her, but Hermione shook her head and made to turn back around. "Oh, no you don't!" Faye scolded, quickly moving in front of her. "You've been gone _all day_! It's almost eleven; where have you been?"  
  
"I told you this morning where I was going, didn't I? Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep..."  
  
"_You_ told me you were getting new barstools. I don't _see_ any new barstools," Faye pointed out heatedly, glaring at her flat mate. Hermione rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to comment, but Faye interrupted her. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?" At this, Hermione lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"You were worried?" she asked, sounding surprised. Faye sighed, dropping her shoulders.  
  
"Of course I was. Anything could have happened to you... why do you think I've waited up? I have a six AM class tomorrow," she explained, and Hermione smiled.  
  
"That's really sweet, Faye... but I can take care of myself. See? I'm home; I'm fine... go back to bed, all right?" she suggested, then tried to walk past her flat mate, but Faye stepped into her path.  
  
"That's all well and good, but I think I at least deserve to know where you were. Obviously, you lied to me; I want to know why."  
  
"I didn't _lie_ to you, love..." Hermione said, sighing. "I just... eluded the truth a little. I'm honestly surprised you haven't figured it out." Faye lifted an eyebrow. "Where would I go to get new barstools?" Hermione posed, crossing her arms and looking impatient. Faye looked perturbed; she didn't see the point in the present inquisition.  
  
"I don't know... the department store?" she guessed and Hermione sighed.  
  
"Really nice ones," she hinted, and Faye seemed completely oblivious.  
  
"A really nice department store?" she surmised unenthusiastically and Hermione placed a hand to her forehead.  
  
"Old, valuable bar stools?"  
  
"An antique store? Hermione, I don't see where this is..." Faye began, but trailed off as her words registered. Hermione was nodding overenthusiastically, a smirk on her face. Faye's lips grew into a grin and she squealed. "Blondie? Really?"  
  
"Right you are; so quick on the uptake."  
  
"Give me details!" she demanded, but Hermione groaned.  
  
"Faye, come on... I'm tired and you have class. Tomorrow; please?" she pleaded, looking importunate, but Faye shook her head.  
  
"You know I'm too excited to sleep now! Come on, just a little run down?"  
  
"Well," Hermione sighed. "I went, we talked, went out, had dinner, and I came home. That's it."  
  
"That's all you did in the ten hours you've been gone?" she asked suspiciously, inclining her eyebrows. Hermione made a face.  
  
"Faye! Yes, that's all we did, all right? Can I go now?" she asked spitefully. Faye didn't answer, but allowed Hermione to brush past her and toward her room.  
  
"Manny?" she called back and Hermione turned.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Did you kiss him?" Faye asked and her flat mate paused. She waited a moment, then repeated her question. "Did you?"  
  
"Yes," Hermione whispered, and Faye lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"What was that? A yes? I knew it... I knew you had a thing for him."  
  
"It was just a little peck!" Hermione defended. "It didn't mean anything but goodnight. Speaking of which," she said, ending the conversation with the slam of her bedroom door.  
  
"You just keep telling yourself that, then!"  
  
---------------------------------

A/N: I changed a little bit in this chapter, but it's relatively the same thing. I've changed my plans for the future slightly, so I had to alter it so it would make the most sense. I hope it's enjoyable to new readers. 


	4. Quidditch 101

Theretofore on GG:  
  
"Did you kiss him?" Faye asked and her flat mate paused. She waited a moment, then repeated her question. "Did you?"  
  
"Yes," Hermione whispered, and Faye lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"What was that? A yes? I knew it... I knew you had a thing for him."  
  
"It was just a little peck!" Hermione defended. "It didn't mean anything but goodnight. Speaking of which," she said, ending the conversation with the slam of her bedroom door.  
  
"You just keep telling yourself that, then!"  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Chapter 4: Quidditch 101  
  
"Dammit! Faye? Would you mind terribly going shopping after class today? I completely forgot," Hermione called from the kitchen upon realization that the carton of eggs in the refrigerator was in fact empty. Faye, doing crunches on the living room floor, groaned and sat up.  
  
"Why can't you?" she complained, looking over the couch at her friend. Hermione turned around, abandoning her search for a makeshift lunch, and started toward the door.  
  
"I have... plans," she said passively, putting on her coat and tying a scarf around her neck. Faye groaned and fell backward onto the carpet.  
  
"Again? That's the third time this week, and it's only Thursday! Honestly, why don't you just move in with the bloke?" she whined, starting again on her sit-ups. Hermione smiled complacently, shaking her head.  
  
"He hasn't asked me yet," she joked, readying herself for the outdoors as she fed the conversation. When Faye made no movement nor showed any interest in the task presented, Hermione stomped her foot. "Please? I promise I'll take your next turn."  
  
"And if I say no?" asked the blonde.  
  
"To me? Nothing. To you? You eat dry cereal until tomorrow evening."  
  
"What?" Faye called in exasperation, sitting up again, hair disheveled and eyes burning. "Where are you going to be all this time, then?"  
  
"I have to mentor until seven, and then Draco invited me to watch the Quidditch Cup with him; it'll end about ten at the earliest. I have to work tomorrow," Hermione explained, but Faye looked suspicious.  
  
"All day?"  
  
"Yep," Hermione answered, nodding. "Accident in the carpool lane; two families, nine members." Faye frowned, suddenly sympathetic.  
  
"Children?" she asked, sounding sad. Hermione nodded.  
  
"Four, ages three months to sixteen years."  
  
"That's so sad," the younger girl commented, sighing deeply. "I'll be depressed all day; good show." Hermione shrugged.  
  
"I'd imagine you'd be used to it by now."  
  
"I think that job is going to your head, Manny. You're not touched at all... nine people; four children. A _baby_..."  
  
"Yeah," Hermione agreed, nodding. "But I didn't know them. And even if I did, everyone dies; Fate can be cruel. I can't do anything but let them rest in peace." There was a silence, in which Faye began slightly rocking, as if praying, giving the lost souls a naïve farewell. Hermione broke it unceremoniously. "Hello? Groceries?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," Faye deadpanned, silently going back to her crunches. Hermione grinned.  
  
"Thanks, love; I'll see you tomorrow," she said, waving passively, and swept out the door, leaving Faye to carry on alone.  
  
-x- -x- -x-  
  
Leaving her home, Hermione apparated to the outskirts of Wizarding West Canterbury and made her way briskly down the street to the children's recreational center. As a child, before Hogwarts, she had paid an exponential amount of time at the center in her home town and, as an adult, she thought it only fair that she spare some time every week or so to help give back. For the last two years, Hermione had been the adoptive big sister of a fourteen year old muggle named Marin Croft. She was a scrawny girl, with an alcoholic mother and a father trying desperately to support the three of them on a meager salary. He was pressured and carried with him a temper fit for any Malfoy; Hermione would bet her life that he abused Marin, perhaps even sexually, but the girl always denied any questions concerning the matter.  
  
Marin was waiting in the gymnasium bleachers for Hermione that day, huddled in the corner and watching the boys on the floor play basketball. Her mentor entered and looked around for only a few moments, grinning as she found her unorthodox sibling. She made the journey up the stairs to the frail girl, sitting with knees drawn while wearing a faded and torn pair of jeans, topped with a hooded cotton sweatshirt. Marin looked up as she heard Hermione approach, blue eyes hidden by a curtain of ebony locks. A tiny smile crossed her lips.  
  
"Hello, love," Hermione chimed as she sat down. "How're things?"  
  
"You're late," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. Hermione nodded sadly.  
  
"I know; I'm sorry; I had a little spat with my flat mate this morning. She's a lazy one, that girl; didn't want to go grocery shopping. Can you believe that?"  
  
"Oh, no, Hermione," Marin exclaimed, sarcastic. "I just _can't_. How could anyone not get excited over eggs and bread? Especially when trading paper notes for them? That'd be the thrill of my day." Hermione laughed, pulling the skinny girl into a hug.  
  
"If you're good, maybe we'll go later and ensure that I _have_ bread and milk for dinner tomorrow night," she suggested playfully, keeping her arms looped around Marin's shoulders and resting her chin in the black tresses atop her head.  
  
"Oh, but I... I have homework, you see. You have to help me; we won't have time," she quickly excused, pretending to sound nervous, and Hermione laughed, pulling back.  
  
"That reminds me," she said. "How was your maths exam?" Marin's smile dropped, and she turned her eyes to the floor. Hermione's lips turned downward as well, her heart going out to the girl. "That bad?"  
  
"I got seventy six percent," she admitted, sighing, and Hermione accompanied her.  
  
"How? We went over those formulas a thousand times!" she exclaimed, but kept her tone low, voice merely filled with disappointment.  
  
"I know," Marin defended, all most brought to tears. "I know, all right? I messed up; I can't do this, I never could. School isn't right for me." Hermione shook her head.  
  
"It's all right, Marin, it isn't the end of the world; it's just one test. There'll be another one, you'll see," she promised, but the younger girl pulled away, tugging down the sleeves of her top.  
  
"My father doesn't see it quite like that," she mumbled, turning her face to the floor. Hermione's frown increased.  
  
"Did he do something?" she asked softly, caringly. "What's that? Let me see your arm."  
  
"It's nothing," she promised, turning slightly away. "I just..."  
  
"Let me see it, Marin." Hermione's voice this time was demanding and firm, but not so harsh as to frighten the girl. Slowly, she complied, pulling up the sleeve to expose a deep purple hand print surrounding her wrist. Hermione made a tiny moan of displeasure at the sight, reaching gingerly to touch the mark. "What happened, baby?" she asked, meaning to pull the girl into another embrace, but Marin pulled away.  
  
"Nothing; I told you. I was reading comic books with Billy Dusto in his tree house and I slipped when I try to get down; he caught me. It's just a little bruise, get off it," she said defensively, pulling her sleeve to completely cover her hand. Hermione sighed.  
  
"You know you can tell me anything, Marin. I wouldn't breathe a word if you didn't want me to; you shouldn't keep things bottled up, love. It's okay to put a little of your burden on someone else's shoulders."  
  
"Hermione," Marin interrupted, turning quickly to face her mentor. She enunciated her words clearly, speaking in sharp, hyphenated syllables. "Nothing happened. I'm fine, why do you always make these assumptions? I've told you a thousand times, nothing is wrong with me! My father may be balmy, but he wouldn't hurt me. He'd never..."  
  
"All right," Hermione said, holding up her hands in defense. "I know; I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you, you know. I'd feel guilty if anything were to happen to you."  
  
"Well, don't bother," Marin suggested. "It's not doing either of us any good." There was a pause within which Marin stared at the basketball players on the court and Hermione watched her, saddened.  
  
"Maybe..." she started, somewhat slowly, and the dark haired girl looked up with a firm countenance. "Maybe I could come twice a week to help you with your studies instead of just once. I'm sure I could schedule work around it; it might benefit you. Four hours at a time is bound to get tiring; if we did it twice a week we could shorten the sessions a little, make more time for racquetball or shopping. You'd be fresher and more absorbent. Do you think you could come by?" Hermione suggested, but Marin began shaking her head long before the full plan was exposed.  
  
"You already do too much for me, Hermione. I don't want to waste any more of your time; you have to have a life too..." she said in decline, but Hermione laughed aloud.  
  
"I spend all my free time with Draco; he's bound to get sick of me soon if I don't give him some breathing room," she joked, glad for the lighter mood. Marin looked up, eyes alive with curiosity.  
  
"Draco? Who's Draco?" she asked eagerly and Hermione pretended to be embarrassed, blushing and turning away. She hadn't told Marin about Draco yet, afraid it might make the girl feel guilty for the already minimal amount of time she took up in Hermione's life. She had always been that way; afraid to impose. Now, Hermione mentioned it in hope of cheering her up. It seemed to work. "You've a boyfriend?" Marin guessed. "Hermione! For shame! How long?"  
  
"Just about a month now..."  
  
"What! Why didn't you tell me?" Marin exclaimed, face brightened and cheerful. "I need details, I want to know everything. I can't believe you didn't say a thing! And all this time, I never knew."  
  
"Well, I suppose I owe it to you now, don't I? Hm... how about we talk over ice cream? I've missed lunch and I'm famished. Maths can wait, I think."  
  
"No complaints here," Marin agreed, jumping to her feet in excitement. "Is he cute? Where did you meet him? Have you kissed? Snogged? Slept together?"  
  
"Marin!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise, standing to follow her student.  
  
"What?" she asked defensively, holding up both hands. "It's girl talk; my counselor says it's good for me."   
  
"I'll have to have a chat with her, then..."  
  
-x- -x- -x-  
  
Hermione apparated directly to Draco's store, ushered herself in and walked directly through the door marked 'Authorized Personnel Only', completely ignoring an elderly woman looking greedily at the children's toys in the corner. The matron looked up at the young girl, but she disappeared before the old woman could utter so much as a hello.  
  
Hermione dashed through the noisy work room and made her way up the staircase in the corner. She made to open the door and invite herself in, but was hindered by an immobile knob. Amused, she rapped her knuckles against the wood.  
  
"Who is it?" Draco asked from the other side, opening his peephole and shedding a beam of light into the dark entryway. Hermione crammed herself into the corner beside the door, just out of eye sight. "Hello?" Draco voiced, confused, and she clamped a hand firmly over her mouth to keep from giggling. When he was again unappeased with lack of answer, Draco opened the door and stuck his blond head out, scanning the twilight with creased eyebrows. It was only when the moment was perfect did she spring from the darkness with an incoherent, tribal growl. He jumped back, startled, and his face displayed surprise only for a moment before it melded into a grin. Hermione laughed airily, lips parted and eyes sparkling. Draco watched her for a moment, before closing the door and separating himself from her. Hermione's laughter melted.  
  
"Come on, Draco, let me in!" she called playfully, knocking her knuckles against the wooden frame of the door.  
  
"No," Draco said sternly, and the clink of a door chain could be heard sliding into its holster. Hermione frowned.  
  
"Please tell me you're not mad," she said, lips curling upward again in amusement. "Aw, come on, I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Granger," he called back jokingly, now quite far from the door. "You're early; I'm not ready for you yet. Busy yourself elsewhere and come back in a quarter hour."  
  
"Draco!" Hermione whined, leaning her face to the door. He didn't bother to respond. "You have to come out; right now."  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
"You have a customer downstairs," she told him proudly, assured he would have no choice but to exit his hideaway.  
  
"A what?" he asked, voice growing louder as he came again to the door. "How did they get in?"  
  
"I'd imagine through the door. You left it unlocked," she reminded him, and a small knock sounded, as if he'd bumped his head to the door.  
  
"For you, not for them."  
  
"I guess they weren't aware of that," Hermione said, smiling. Draco was silent for a moment, thinking, then spoke somewhat timidly.  
  
"Will you take care of them?" he asked, and Hermione scoffed.  
  
"Me? It isn't my job; I don't work here."  
  
"Just give me five minutes."  
  
With a sigh, Hermione tramped back down the stairs and across the workshop to the front room, where the old woman was playing with a yo-yo and laughing as if she were three years old. Hermione smiled at her, stepping up to the counter. She watched the old woman play for a moment, then reluctantly informed her that the shop was closing. Kindly, the old woman did as asked and left the outlet, but not without a complimentary wooden ball on a string. Her task completed, Hermione locked the door leading to the outside world and made the journey back upstairs. When she was met with Draco's front entrance this time, the slab was opened completely, displaying the apartment within. Hermione entered tentatively; as if afraid some trick was to be played on her.  
  
"Draco?" she called in question, looking around the curtain-walled room with wide and explorative eyes. Draco appeared in the circle of doorways leading to the separate rooms with a grin and made his way toward her. Without a word he kissed her lips and pushed the unbuttoned coat from her shoulders, draping it over his arm and chasing it with her woolen scarf.  
  
"Missed you," he greeted, and Hermione laughed aloud, stepping to the side.  
  
"Oh, so that's why you closed the door in my face," she joked, crossing her arms. Draco smiled, somewhat sheepishly.  
  
"I wasn't ready," he explained, shrugging and tossing her possessions in the chair by the door.  
  
"Ready for what? It's only me," Hermione asked, sounding innocently curious. Draco smiled at her.  
  
"As if you're nothing special," he teased, taking her hand and leading her into the next room. Assuming he planned to set them up in the living area with a board game and some butterbeer, as had become custom, Hermione opened her mouth to ask about the Quidditch match, which was scheduled to start in a quarter hour. When she entered the living room, however, she was met with a surprise.  
  
"Draco," she breathed, "What's all this?" Aside from the expected butterbeer, the set up in the room was the opposite of that expected. The sofa and coffee table were missing, no doubt pushed into another room, and replaced with a full sized mattress, covered in red sheets and littered with throw pillows. Creating a ring around the center console, bowls of snacks and beer on ice awaited indulgence. The room was only dimly lit, creating a romantic ambiance that had Hermione feeling slightly uncomfortable. "I thought we were going to watch the match," she admitted dumbly, and Draco laughed.  
  
"We are; wait until you see this," he said, excitedly, leaving her in the doorway and pouncing on the bed. "I saw them on my trip this weekend, and I couldn't leave without them. I wanted to surprise you; come on." Draco dug through the pillows until he located his missing treasures, then brought them to the open air. Hermione raised an eyebrow; they looked like binoculars to her; at the most, omnioculars with limited features. Intrigued, Hermione pushed off her oxfords and joined Draco on the bed, eyes trained on the little machines.  
  
"What are they?" she asked, reaching a hand out to tentatively touch one of the two stationary appliances. Draco smiled.  
  
"Legerdes," he said. "They used to use them way back when, before the invention of apparition. People couldn't get anywhere big if they weren't in walking distance; it's insane to floo hundreds of people, so these were the next best thing. I'll show you," he said, using the hat-like straps to fasten a legerde onto his brow. He played with a few buttons before taking them off again and handing them to Hermione.  
  
The moment the lenses covered her eyes, she felt as if she'd apparated. She could hear the roar of the crowd, smell the muddy grass, and see the players making a pre-game lap around the pitch. Hermione gasped, overcome, and took in everything; she was seated strategically in the middle of the stadium; half way up and directly between the two goal posts. Millions of people filled the bleachers, cheering on their favorite teams, but none seemed close to her. She couldn't feel the hard benches she seemed to be sitting upon and the area to all immediate directions was blurred. The pitch itself was crystal clear and the players seemed not but a few yards away.  
  
"Well?" asked a familiar voice in her ear and Hermione started.  
  
"Draco?" she yelled. "Where are you? I can't-" A phantom hand covered her mouth, restricting the flow of words, and Hermione made a disgruntled sound of surprise.  
  
"You don't have to yell," Draco said, laughter in his voice. "I'm still a quarter meter away from you." Hermione relaxed and he removed his hand.  
  
"Draco?" she asked quietly, although sure he couldn't possibly hear over the crowd.  
  
"Yes?" he mocked, voice lucid over the roar of those cheering, though it didn't seem as if he was raising his volume at all.  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"I told you; right next to you," he reminded, prodding her shoulder as if to verify.  
  
"Where am I?" Hermione asked, eyebrows drawn. Draco laughed aloud.  
  
"In my living room; where else would you be?"  
  
"Don't be absurd; this isn't... why can't I see you?" she rambled, still looking wildly around, though her blond didn't seem to be anywhere.  
  
"Calm down, would you?" he asked and Hermione felt a warm hand slide into hers. "It's the legerdes; that's what they do. Wicked, isn't it?"  
  
"Why can't I feel the ground? I'm not sure I like this..."  
  
"Because you're still sitting on my bed. It's a bit odd at first, but you'll get used to it."  
  
"All right..." Hermione said hesitantly, then followed the path of his arm to find him. Certain she would feel much safer with him near her, she leaned into his persona and curled her arms around him. Draco grinned, although she couldn't see, and held her to him.  
  
"You know you're kind of cute when you're confused."  
  
"Don't be coy, Draco," Hermione scolded, although a smile lit her face. "It doesn't suit you."  
  
"Yes, well, neither does your eyewear. You look rather like an insect."  
  
"Shh," she insisted, ignoring his insult. "The game is starting."  
  
"Oh, is it?" Draco asked, jumping slightly. Hermione felt his arms leave her and frowned, sitting up. She could hear him moving and drew in her eyebrows as she waited for an explanation. In the empty space beside her, Draco suddenly appeared, his image flickering a bit before becoming solid. Hermione's mouth dropped as she watched him move his hands about his eyes, as if fixing his legerde, though it could not be seen. When his invisible eyeglasses were comfortably placed on his head, Draco looked up and smirked at the look of shock on Hermione's face. He lifted a hand and waved guiltily, toying with her. Broken from her state, Hermione lashed out with her fists, pushing him harsh enough to cause a temporary loss of balance. He laughed. "Hey, what was that for?"  
  
"You know damn well," Hermione spat, turning toward the pitch and crossing her arms over her chest, a scowl on her face. "Imagine," she mumbled. "Making me think I'd have to spend the whole game talking to someone I can't even see and..." Hermione looked over her shoulder to see him watching her in mild interest, an amused look on his grinning face. "What are you laughing at? I'm just a running joke to you, aren't I?" Draco shook his head at her, leaning inward.  
  
"You're so high-strung," he complained. "Always were, and it looks like you always will be."  
  
"I am not high-strung," Hermione defended, turning her nose to the sky. "What would you know about it, anyway?"  
  
"You're not mad at me, are you?" Draco asked, inching an arm around her waist. Hermione ignored him, giving the impression that she didn't overly mind the contact. In retaliation, Draco moved them back into position, though Hermione remained with her attention on the pitch, body rigid and unreceptive. Draco followed her gaze; the teams were just lining up for the quaffle toss, the two head chasers eagerly awaiting release. Draco watched Hermione's face as the whistle blew, predicting her reaction should the Bosnian chaser win the duel. When he did, the crowd cheered and Hermione inhaled, eyes alight though she tried to remain stony-faced. Draco watched her in divertissement for a moment, enlivened by her stubbornness. "You're allowed to enjoy the game, Hermione." She looked up, and promptly back to the pitch, gaze focused. "It is why we came, after all."  
  
"Shh," she scolded and Draco laughed.  
  
"Why? I'm no noisier than anyone else on the pitch. What exactly are you straining to hear?"  
  
"I'm trying to watch the game," Hermione explained coolly. "You're distracting me." Draco frowned, moving slightly away. His joke had evidently not gone as planned and he wasn't about to put any more of her tolerance at stake. Hermione, however, watched him through the corner of her eye as he drew his knees up and rested his chin upon them, watching the players wage heated battles with each other. It was there again, that odd and uneasy feeling that came, supposedly, from the sensation of being in two places at once. Hermione felt somewhat queasy, as if flying, and shook herself, moving closer to her bedmate. Without so much as an inkling of explanation for her actions and cold shoulder, Hermione folded herself back into his arms, and Draco smiled as he held her.  
  
There was a period of silence, then, and both simply watched the game, enthralled. Hermione found herself clinging to Draco in the anticipation of the chase, the complex flight patters and feints riveting. He too was caught up in the suspense, continuously leaning forward as the players flew excruciatingly closer to the goal posts.  
  
Draco cursed under his breath as Blackwood, the head Bosnian chaser, made a loop much too close to the goals for his enjoyment. Hermione, however, seemed elated, clutching him and she grinned, eyes trailing her favorite player.  
  
To Draco's relief, Hollsopple, one of the more aggressive Denmark beaters, directed a lethal bludger directly for Blackwood. He noticed in time and swerved, but the ball nicked the end of his broom and sent him spiraling toward the ground. Blackwood managed to keep control of the quaffle and, once remounted, seemed no worse for the wear. Draco pouted a bit and felt Hermione sigh in relief beside him.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked stiffly, suspicious.  
  
"What?" Hermione questioned distractedly, craning her neck to better see. Draco mocked her sigh overdramatically, sticking out his tongue and slouching forward. Hermione giggled slightly at him, shaking her head.  
  
"Don't be cocky, Draco."  
  
"Why? Doesn't it suit me?" he jested, smirking at his wit, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well," he prodded and she sighed again, this time in exasperation.  
  
"I don't want Blackwood to _die_ ten minutes into the game; that wouldn't be overly good for my swans, would it?"  
  
"No," he admitted, trailing a thumb lightly over her shoulder. "I suppose not." Hermione smirked and looked at him sideways.  
  
"If I were paranoid, I'd call you jealous."  
  
"Yes, of course. Princes on stags and chasers on brooms, all coming to take you away from me," Draco said, voice airy as if reciting from a book of fairy tales. Hermione pretended to be offended.  
  
"Are you implying that they wouldn't want me? Why the hell not?"  
  
"No," Draco corrected deviously. "I'm implying that I'd beat seven shades out them if they tried," he stated, then paused before adding, "And they know that." She smiled fleetingly, as if self-satisfied, and turned back to the game just in time to watch the Blackwood pass the quaffle to fellow chaser, Stokesby. Hermione's attention was fully diverted again to the game, the flattered smile falling from her face in favor of a bitten lip, nervous in anticipation. Stokesby scored, making the first goal of the game, and Hermione heard Draco curse beside her. She smirked at him and cheered along with the crowd, hoping to irk him.  
  
As the twilight turned to darkness, the match was still as it had stood hours before; the Bosnian Black Swans were leading the Denmark Deuces by one goal; the only goal made throughout the game. At each hour, Draco's collection of ticking clocks in the store room below would chime simultaneously, making it clear even in their excited stupor that the minute hand had gone full circle. Hermione subconsciously kept track of these bells, counting in her head to determine the current time. It was when the clock struck nine, signaling the second completed hour of the game, that she tried to make further conversation. Draco was looking slightly aggravated, and Hermione played off it, smirking.  
  
"Looks like your team isn't so hot-to-trot is it?"  
  
"Oh, shush, will you? Remember what happened last time you thought you were winning," he reminded her, aggravated.  
  
"Well, granted, but that _was_ America I was rooting for; would those in heaven allow them victory? Surely not."  
  
"If you're so sure, we could take shots," Draco suggested, smirking evilly. Hermione mimicked him.  
  
"Got any hard liquor?" she asked and he frowned.  
  
"You're not serious," he stated, but seemed unsure. Hermione grinned and shook her head, indulging in a kiss fit only for public, although they were technically in the privacy of their own home. The crowd cheered, then, and Hermione pulled away, eyes frantically searching the pitch. As she saw Blackwood making a victory lap around the Deuces' hoops, she joined in the cheering. Draco groaned and dropped his blond head into his hands.  
  
---------------------------------

A/N: For those of you unsure, no the game is not over. Blackwood is a chaser, not a seeker. He couldn't win the game if he wanted to. His solo lap means only a second goal for the Black Swans. 


	5. To Promise

Theretofore on GG:

"Looks like your team isn't so hot-to-trot is it?" 

"Oh, shush, will you? Remember what happened last time you thought you were winning," he reminded her, aggravated. 

"Well, granted, but that _was_ America I was rooting for; would those in heaven allow them victory? Surely not."

"If you're so sure, we could take shots," Draco suggested, smirking evilly. Hermione mimicked him. 

"Got any hard liquor?" she asked and he frowned. 

"You're not serious," he stated, but seemed unsure. Hermione grinned and shook her head, indulging in a kiss fit for public, although they were technically in the privacy of their own home. The crowd cheered, then, and Hermione pulled away, eyes frantically searching the pitch. As she saw Blackwood making a victory lap around the Deuces' hoops, she joined in the cheering. Draco groaned and dropped his blond head into his hands. 

-----------------------------

Chapter 5: To Promise

At ten after midnight, Draco stood from his little huddle with Hermione, who by then was fast asleep, and cheered at the top of his lungs, waving his arms and jumping. Even if she hadn't been rudely awaken by the sudden rising of her human pillow, Hermione wouldn't have slept much longer due to the harsh bouncing of the mattress. She spluttered as she sat up, looking around in alarm; she seemed to be the only one on the pitch who was still seated. 

"What?" she called up to Draco, who could clearly hear her. "What's going on? What happened?" Laughing, he dropped down beside her. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized lightly for his disregard of her slumber and kissed her quickly. "But that was the most brilliant catch I have ever seen." Draco stared with admiring eyes at the pitch, where the Denmark Deuces were making a riot with their victory laps. Hermione yawned. 

"It's over?" she asked. "Really?" He nodded. 

"I know; seems soon, doesn't it?" 

"Hardly," Hermione said, chuckling as she gratefully removed her legerde and placed it on the floor beside the bed. She felt slightly dizzy as the real world crashed down upon her once again; she had just been getting used to the strange feeling of floating on a cloud. Draco frowned at her while he tried to remove his headgear, but the clasp seemed stuck in his hair. Hermione noticed him struggling and smiled, moving to help him. "You know, you're right. One does look rather like an insect with those goggles on," she noted, and Draco smirked as he waited to be freed, leaning into her invisible body. Hermione liberated him with ease, saving all but a few strands of his precious locks, and sighed, placing his legerde next to hers. 

Draco let the dizziness pass before he opened his eyes, but it proved pointless as he was then startled by Hermione's proximity. He had sensed her while wearing the lenses, but hadn't anticipated her smiling face an inch from his. Taking advantage of the situation as soon as his wits were again about him, Draco pitched forward and captured her lips in a kiss, to which Hermione dreamily responded. She smiled contentedly as they broke apart, and Draco took it as invitation to continue. He moved toward her again, stealing another more intense kiss, and Hermione responded adequately, bringing a hand to hold the side of his face as her lips worked against his. 

When Draco pressed forward, Hermione allowed herself to fall backward on the mattress, moving aside empty bottles and dropping her head into a bowl of popcorn. She laughed against his lips and Draco smirked, helping her blindly to push it away. Relaxing back into his kisses, Hermione groaned softly, moving her arms to tie around his neck. Draco was persistent, shifting to position himself over her, bearing down into the mattress. Hermione smiled against him as she began to trail kisses down his chin. Taking the upper hand, she moved her palms over his chest and dropped them onto her own, letting her fingers work at the button fastened closest to her chin. Draco, breath already laborious, kissed the bridge of Hermione's nose before moving farther down, marking spots along her neck and taking advantage of each new patch of skin she revealed while unclasping buttons. 

Hermione worked carelessly and confidently for minutes more, enjoying Draco's presence and persistent touches. It wasn't until a loud chirp from the lower level sounded into the night air did she pause, opening her eyes to look curiously up at her partner. The little bird chirped again and again, repeating its irritating tweet for the whole building to hear. Draco groaned aloud in annoyance, kissing Hermione as if in apology. 

"Ignore it," he told her in whisper. "I haven't fixed it yet; it hardly ever chirps, and when it does, it'll be thirty times on the half hour and never at the turn." Hermione took amusement in his declaration, laughing softly, and Draco returned her smile before starting again to tease her with kisses. Hermione made a soft sound of pleasure. 

"Draco?" she asked, voice low. He made no move to suggest he'd heard her. "What time is it?" 

"What?" he asked, muffled by her skin. "I don't know..." Draco tried to continue his enjoyable task, even going so far as to pick up where Hermione had left off by means of her plastic buttons, but she pushed him back.

"Draco, it's important. What time is it?" she repeated, looking up at him, and Draco sighed, turning his head up to listen to the chirping bird. 

"It's an English sparrow," he told her, as if she was interested, and Hermione gave half a nod. 

"Right, and?" 

"The English sparrow sings at half past twelve," he recalled, nodding. "Yes, that's right." 

"What?" she shouted suddenly, shoving him away to allow her to bolt upright. Draco looked understandably confused. "Are you sure? How can it be that late already?" Hermione asked, hurrying to button her blouse. Draco shrugged a shoulder, pushing himself to sit beside her. 

"You were sleeping for a while," he admitted and Hermione moaned in frustration at having skipped a button on the way up. Draco laughed a little and kissed her temple. "Would you calm down for a minute and tell me what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said, turning her head with a look of regret. "I can't do this tonight; I have to work in six hours, and I'm exhausted... I'll make it up to you, I promise." Draco pouted and Hermione smiled, kissing him quickly before moving to stand. Draco, eyebrows knitted in confusion, easily pulled her back down. 

"Where are you going?" he asked, tying his arms around her waist to keep her in place. Hermione laughed softly, relaxing for a moment into his embrace. 

"Home," she said. "Where else would I go?" 

"Stay with me," he stated demandingly, before a moment of silence could break between their words. 

"What? Draco, really, let me up," Hermione said, shaking her head, but Draco held firm. 

"Please?" he asked, kissing her shoulder softly. "Just sleep; nothing more." She sighed, pressing her forehead to his temple. 

"Promise?" 

"Promise," he replied hastily, smiling into her skin. Hermione nodded, turning her hips. 

"All right," she agreed and Draco grinned, kissing her before moving them to lie beside one another. Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, ready for a welcoming rest, but Draco merely paused before speaking again.

"What do you do, anyway?" he asked her, honestly curious; he had no idea. Hermione frowned. 

"Draco, please; just let me sleep? I'll tell you tomorrow; I promise." 

He smiled softly and kissed the crown of her head, pulling her toward him. Hermione, already drunk on sleep, cuddled up to him and was snoring softly within a matter of minutes. Draco stayed awake a while longer, watching her sleep and picking popcorn from her hair. 

-x-  -x-  -x-

Draco woke alone the next morning, stiff from the floored mattress which left no bounce to any movement. Hermione had left hours ago, judging by her provided timeline of work at six thirty. He sighed, sitting up and stretching taught muscles. Draco felt honestly disappointed; though he knew she would be departing early, he had hoped to rise with her and grant her happy leave. 

He rose slowly, rigid and tense, and looked around the room for any note or indication from his hard-working girlfriend. There seemed to be nothing and he sighed, massaging his back as he shuffled toward the bathroom; the only room with real solid walls. It was there that he smiled, feeling less forgotten; written on the mirror in a cherry colored lipstick was a smudged pair of lip prints and the simple phrase, 

I'll call you tonight. 

Kisses, 

         Hermione.

Chuckling lightly, Draco traced the letter 'H' with is finger and shook his head as he rubbed the little red mark on the inside of his pocket. From the look of the bathroom, it seemed that Hermione had taken advantage of his shower stall and linens, and most probably had apparated directly from the lavatory. Leaving back into the main portion of his home, Draco moved aside the curtain and allowed himself entry to the kitchen. It seemed she had conveniently forgotten to eat anything; the carton of juice he had left on the counter was still in its place, the condensation had long since dripped onto the surface and created a puddle below it. Had Hermione even bothered to enter the kitchen, Draco knew for a fact that she wouldn't be able to leave the juice there; it would be nestled safely in the icebox in its place beside the milk. No, she had definitely not eaten. 

This noted, Draco was struck with an idea. He readied himself quickly and apparated to her apartment, where Faye jumped clean off her barstool, emitting a screech. 

"Hey! You know there's a no apparating in the living room rule!" she growled, righting herself on the stool and huffing into her tea and biscuits. Draco laughed in spite of her and Faye glared. "Hermione's not here, anyway; she didn't come home last night. I assumed she was with you." 

"She was," Draco granted, nodding as he sat beside her and helped himself to a tea cookie. "I came to talk to you." 

"To me?" she asked, eyebrows lifted into her hairline. Draco nodded with an arch smile, chewing carefully. Faye, in childlike revenge for scaring her, ripped the cookie from his hand and shoved it directly into her mouth. "Sorry, Blondie," she said, smiling toothily without care of the morsel being chewed. "You're just not my type." Draco chuckled.

"That's not what I've heard," he countered, resting his head on a hand. "Seems not a month ago I was _exactly_ your type." 

"Yes," Faye admitted, sliding from her stool and bringing the little cookie plate to the sink. "But that was before you started dating my best friend. And before I knew you. I'm not really the live beneath a cloak of darkness, sexily little mistress kind of girl." Smirking, Draco stepped down from his chair and went to stand behind her, poking a finger crudely into the small of her back. 

"Hey, Faye-bee, you know you don't mean that," he said softly, prodding her. "Why don't you be a good little mistress and come give me some sugar?" Faye sighed and spun around, slapping his hand away. She wagged a finger in his face, looking rash enough to kill.

"Someday that's going to work, Blondie," she warned. "I'll turn right around and ravish you; then where'll you be?" Draco laughed at her, moving backward to retake his post at the breakfast bar. 

"A happy place?" he suggested naively, and Faye threw up her hands in exasperation.

"Why is it that every time I see you I want to... to... pelt you with _sharp_ things?" she asked, brandishing a fork found dripping in the drain. Draco shrugged, looking innocent. With a frustrated sigh, Faye dumped the fork back into its holster and approached him again, mumbling to herself. "How Manny puts up with you, I'll never know..." 

"Technically," Draco interrupted, smirking deviously. "It is _I_ who must put up with _her_." Faye stared for a moment, confused, but her face quickly contorted in disgust. She shook her head disapprovingly, not sparing him the favor of a comment for his behavior. Draco laughed. "What kind of mistress are you? You're supposed to laugh at all my jokes and flirt and bat your eyelashes and let me have my way with you. You're terrible at this, you know." 

"Ha," Faye said with a smirk to rival his own. "As if you could support a girlfriend _and_ a mistress. You couldn't afford the lipstick off your collar." Draco shook his head, giving up his end of their game. 

"I suppose you've got me there," he agreed, lifting his index finger and thumb to create a tiny invisible box between his fingers. "Though you might be exaggerating, just a bit." Faye rolled her eyes. 

"Draco, seriously, was there a _reason_ you came to bug me, or are you just bored? Because I have homework and the taps in the bathroom are reversed. You could amuse yourself with that for a while." 

"As tempting as that sounds," Draco began, "I'd much rather stay and annoy you." Faye shot him a heated glare. "Or... ask the question I came to ask and promptly leave upon receiving my answer." 

"That's better. What do you want?"

"Where does Hermione work? She absolutely refuses to tell me. I thought I'd get a rise and surprise her," he said, smiling as he waited for her answer and approval. Faye just looked surprised. 

"She hasn't told you yet?" she asked, eyebrows arched. Draco shook his head. 

"She's promised to a million times but always avoids the subject somehow."

"And how long have you been dating?" 

"The reunion was a month and fifteen days ago," he stated as if he had just checked that morning and Faye eyed him curiously, but did not comment on his quick calculations.

"Wow," she said, sounding as if she was genuinely surprised. "She must really like you." Draco frowned slightly, looking confused. 

"What do you mean?" he pried, moving slightly closer in anticipation. Faye suddenly shook her head. 

"No," she said. "No, no, no, no, _no_. I _can't_ tell you. If Manny didn't tell you, she obviously doesn't want you to know, and I will not be the one that puts uneven ground between the two of you." Draco was now thoroughly befuddled.

"I don't understand," he admitted. "What uneven ground?" Faye sighed. 

"Well," she said. "Let's just say that... you wouldn't be the first guy to walk out on her because of it. I don't want to be responsible for that." 

"Are you mad, girl?" he asked, indisputably chafed by her implication. "As long as she's not a death eater, I really don't care what she does! And even then I wouldn't leave her for it." Faye chuckled dryly. 

"If only you knew the irony of that statement," she said, smiling up at him, but Draco was seething. "Look, calm down, would you? Look at this from _my_ perspective: Manny knows you a lot better than I do. If she hasn't trusted enough to tell you, who am I to make that choice?" Draco shook his head, standing from his stool and crossing his arms. 

"Your logic makes me physically ill," he told her, glaring. "If you don't want to tell me, that's one thing, but you don't have to _insult_ me so brutally along the way." Faye threw up her hands in exasperation and drew a paper napkin toward her. 

"Fine. Fine, fine, fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. Have you got a pen?" she asked, still reluctant, and Draco tilted his head in the most meager shake manageable. Faye sighed and moved to the couch where her texts lied waiting for her to return from tea and picked through the masses to find an inexpensive plastic pen. She jotted something on the napkin and thrust it at Draco, who smiled at her, pocketing his makeshift parchment.  

"Thanks, love," he toyed, kissing her cheek before disappearing and leaving behind him a loud and callus crack which nearly caused Faye to loose her balance. She shook a fist at the air, cursing. 

-x-  -x-  -x-

Hermione stared down at the lifeless child in front of her. His records told that he was just turning six as she watched him; Hermione counted down the minutes. When the clock ticked past eleven fifty two, she sighed. 

"Happy Birthday, Josh," she stated softly, lifting painted, pristine fingers to close the lids and cover his blank eyes. She sighed and said the Prayer for the Dead, then let go, moving to continue her work. When she turned back to the child, one eye was wide and the other partially open, and she cursed. "Drat. Not going to make this easy for me, are you?" she asked rhetorically as she searched her table of tools for her little bottle of superglue. "I can tell already." 

"Hermione?" said a voice from the doorway just as she began the second eyelid. Hermione, startled, squeezed the little tube too hard and caused a large pool of glue to form under the boy's eye. Paying no attention to her mistake, she looked up, heart beating suddenly stronger in her chest. Draco was standing there, looking mildly surprised and amused. "Wow. Never expected this," he admitted, stepping into the room. Hermione allowed herself to breathe. 

"Draco?" she asked, shaken. "What are you... how did you even..." He laughed, coming closer to kiss her in greeting, but Hermione stepped back. "Who let you in here?" she demanded and Draco frowned. 

"Your boss... Emory, I think his name was? I told him I wanted to take you out for lunch... he called me 'lad' and pushed me all the way down here," he said, looking slightly suspicious of the man. Hermione allowed herself to plop down in the rolling silver chair that matched her tray of instruments, shoulders dropping. She nodded softly.

"That's Emory all right," she validated, pausing for a moment before she spared a look up at him. "Faye told you?" Draco debated lying for a moment, but had no other alibi and forced himself to nod, giving away his accomplice. 

"For what it's worth," he interrupted. "I conned it out of her. If you're going to be angry, be so with me, not her." Hermione bent over in her chair, crossing her arms over her stomach and hugging herself as she placed her forehead gently on the bar of the metal bed. Draco noticed with slight unease that her crown rested just centimeters from the cold clammy flesh of the little boy's hand. 

"Draco," Hermione said damply, breaking him from his thoughts of little Josh. "Say what you need to say and just go; please. You're not making anything better by stalling." With a deep frown, Draco took another step forward, kneeling beside her and placing a thick hand on her back. Hermione trembled beneath his touch. 

"Now I'm confused," he said, somewhat condescendingly. "The way Faye spoke, it seemed I was to be _stomping_ out... not _thrown_ out." Hermione's head snapped toward him immediately, eyes wet and wide. She sniffled, wiping a tear just as it escaped its enclosure. 

"You mean... you don't _care_? About this?" she asked, sounding amazed at the mere idea. Draco chuckled softly, running his hand up her spine and back down once more. 

"Why would I?" he asked, grinning, but Hermione kept the dumbfounded twist in her countenance. 

"But Draco," she started. "_Everyone_ hates this about me; whenever I go home on holiday, my parents try to take me to counseling, Faye makes me shower for twenty minutes every time I enter the apartment... she _times_ me, Harry and Ron avoided me for months after I told them where I was accepted to college, hell, even Emory thinks I'm weird, and he owns this place," Hermione listed, ticking off things on her fingers like a grocery list. She looked up at him. "I'm bloody _Morticia_, Draco." He laughed, taking her listed hands into his own and bringing them to his lips. 

"Hermione, honestly, _no_; I don't really care what you do," he paused. "All right, that's slightly untrue; I don't really _mind_ what you do. I do care, I find it interesting. I think _you're_ interesting; this just proves me right. All I know from what I've seen today is that there are a lot of things about you that I _don't_ know. And I want to, Hermione. I want to learn everything." Hermione was near tears. She laughed once, releasing all tension.

"Draco," she warned him. "You're touching my hands." He laughed aloud. 

"Yes, I am, love. Wonderful of you to notice."

"But," Hermione said, grinning though she sounded unsure. "I've touched the boy; you saw me." Draco nodded, but refused to let go of her wrists. He moved his face away and Hermione splayed her fingers, allowing him to rest his cheeks safely on her palms. 

"I don't care," he repeated. "They're _your_ hands." Hermione burst into a tiny sob, dropping her lips to kiss the crown of his head. Draco smiled. "Well," he began again, sounding disbelieving. "This explains why you didn't want to tell me on our first date... but even so long ago as last night? Really, did you think I'd just _drop_ you because of something so trite as this? Hermione, you know me. Probably better than my own mother; would I do that to you?" Hermione sniffled, shaking her head and moving back again to see his face. 

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said. "I wanted to tell you; so many times... but I couldn't. Each time I would think of all the friends and lovers and patrons who walked away the second they knew, and I'd talk myself out of it. I've never met anyone like you," she admitted, and laughed a little. "I guess this proves my point." Draco smiled, but Hermione frowned again, continuing on. "I was just so afraid you'd do the same thing; I didn't want you to leave me." Draco shook his head, curling his fingers around the sides of her hands and pulling his face from between her palms. 

"I wouldn't," he promised, kissing her knuckles. "I wouldn't ever. Never be afraid to talk to me, Hermione. I'll never judge you; I'll try my hardest never to hurt you." Hermione sobbed again, dropping his welcoming hands and pitching forward to wrap her arms around his neck. Draco returned the embrace, kissing her shoulder through the thin black fabric that covered it. 

Hermione pulled back only to move forward again and crush her lips against his, invoking immediate response. Draco moved his hands into her hair, holding her head steady as he kissed her, removing any doubt in her mind that he didn't care. It wasn't until one of his hands wandered over her chest and past her hip to rest on the hem of her dress that lied neatly over her knee that Hermione pushed him away, breathing heavily. She laughed when Draco tried to return his lips to hers, eager to continue what had already been postponed. 

"Draco, stop," Hermione said, giggling as she pushed him back. "As wonderful a story this would be to relive with Faye tonight when she drills me for details... _little pictures_." She tilted her head toward the pale little boy on the metal table at Draco's confused expression and he looked toward it in slight shame. 

"Right," he said, moving back, and Hermione stood from her chair. She leaned over the little boy who was dressed in his best and a paper bib to protect it, looking now very much dead, and eerily so. Paying no attention to such a thing, she examined the puddle of glue beneath his eye. 

"Let me just clean this up, and then we can go to lunch if you want," she suggested, using a painted fingernail to lift the edge of the glue puddle. Draco lifted an eye. 

"'s that my fault?" he asked, frowning, and apologized. Hermione shook her head. 

"It's all right," she said. "Happens all the time, actually; I get jumpy down here, it's always so quiet. Emory knocks on the door and the lipstick marks a cheek, I put on too much cream... once I was trimming nose hairs and he came down to tell me it was nearly midnight... and I clipped a nostril. I'm really just pathetic if you think about it." She sighed. "Nothing to worry about; a little make up can fix anything if you know how to use it. This'll just take..." Draco watched as she lifted the corner of the glue puddle and ripped the rest off in one clean motion like a sticking plaster. A crater was left behind where the skin had adhered to the glue and had been shed along with it, but Hermione did not seem bothered. "Not too bad," she stated softly, throwing the little slice of skin and glue into the trash can in the corner of the room. With a smile at Draco, who returned it promptly, she soaped up in the sink and returned to his side smelling of generic disinfectant. He kissed her instantaneously. 

-------------------------

A/N: Are you creeped out? Have you decided I'm too weird for words? ::evil smile:: Excellent. Ha; wait until you read the next chapter. :oD. Beach thought this was a good idea, didn't you, Beach? You love me, you know you do. 

God, I am so proud of this story. There's so much foreshadowing it isn't even funny. That in mind, predict for me what will happen in the future. Anyone but Beach... I already told her.


	6. Stitches and Knots

Theretofore on GG:

Draco watched as she lifted the corner of the glue puddle and ripped the rest off in one clean motion like a sticking plaster. A crater was left behind where the skin had adhered to the glue and had been shed along with it, but Hermione did not seem bothered. "Not too bad," she stated softly, throwing the little slice of skin and glue into the trash can in the corner of the room. With a smile at Draco, who returned it promptly, she soaped up in the sink and returned to his side smelling of generic disinfectant. He kissed her instantaneously.

-----------------------------------

Chapter 6: Stitches and Knots

Hermione led Draco from the preparation room and into the main lobby of the funeral parlor, fingers laced loosely in his. She was glowing, unable to keep the smile from lighting her face, and walked with an air of carefree confidence. She was by far the most relaxed Draco had ever seen her and, he admitted, she had never looked more appetizing. He could nary keep his eyes off her, losing himself in her hushed whispers while absorbing none of the things she had said. As they reached the front door, Hermione stopped at the reference desk to fill out her time card and take her coat from its place on a hat stand. She laughed softly as she returned to his side, slipping into her sleeves and pulling a throng of tendrils from her collar. 

"Have you heard a word I've said?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow and waving a hand in front of his face. Draco blinked, focusing his attention, and gave her half a smile, muttering apologies. Hermione grinned, happy in wake of his unexpected approval of her everyday life, and introduced another of the sweet lovebird kisses they had trademarked. 

 They broke apart quickly as footsteps fell into the room. Hermione spun to meet the intruder and grinned at her boss, who looked momentarily surprised before casting a sentimental look across his crinkled face. 

"Aw, don't mind an old man," Emory said, smiling tiredly at them. "Just passing through; go on about your business." Hermione cast an arch smile to her boyfriend, linking their hands discreetly between them.

"Emory," she called after the old man, who had passed through the lobby and started for the showing room, brandishing a wand and whispering to himself. "It is all right if I break for lunch, isn't it?" He turned back to her, smiling toothily. 

"Of course, dear; I'm apt to follow once I move the bombshell outta this showcase. Ms. Applegate's decided she wants that copper one for the boy instead of the steel. Says it looks too industrial. Well, I don't know about that, but I've enough trouble moving it out, I'm not moving another back in until she's _absolutely sure_ copper isn't too shiny, or some codswallow," he complained, but in a cheery voice, still smiling dreamily. Hermione frowned, giving Draco a feeble  He turned back to her, smiling toothily. 

 started for the showing room, brandishing a wand andlook, before stepping forward to save her elderly boss. 

"Why don't I do that, Emory? You've enough trouble with all her finance changes; let me help with the hands-on," she offered, nearly pleading him, and Emory sighed gratefully, nodding. 

"Thank you, Wednesday. I wasn't quite sure if I could manage; I'm a bit rusty with a levitation," he praised, and Hermione gave him a pointed look. 

"I thought I told you not to call me that," she scolded half heartedly, and his eyes filled with mirth.

"Why don't you take an extra hour for lunch, love? You've finished half your work already, and it needn't be done until Thursday. You'll outwork Lurch before you know it." 

Hermione laughed at his joke and bid her employer good noon before squeezing Draco's hand and leading him into the show room, where a closed silver casket rested eerily against the wall, being the only furniture in the room. Hermione dug her wand from her pocket and projected a charm in its direction, causing the box to lift from its curtained console. She turned then to Draco, who had watched her interaction with a polite smile, absorbing the aura of which she still leaked. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "I've just got to run next door with this. It's a little creepy over there; you don't have to come." Draco grinned and kissed her forehead.

"On the contrary, I think that would be wonderful," he stated, lifting himself once onto the balls of his feet. Hermione laughed at the authoritative and overweening smirk on his face, and spared him possession of her right hand while she directed the coffin with her left. She led them down a hidden flight of stairs, just off the show room, and through a long tunnel with marble flooring and whitewashed walls. It had the lingering smell of disinfectant, not unlike that of a hospital, and Draco found himself wrinkling his nose against it. Hermione seemed not to pay mind, striding purposefully down the alleyway and dashing up the short set of stairs that greeted her at its end. Draco then realized that they had been traveling underground between the parlor and the home across the drive. 

Hermione opened the door at the top of the stairs to display a room full of caskets, categorized and displayed with similar models to assure optimal viewing of the array of choices before making executive decision. She left him then, opening a door he had assumed was some sort of closet. Inside was a wall of little drawers, marked and noted with words and symbols foreign to Draco. Hermione chanted a spell to make the steel cradle shrink to a tenth its original size and carefully directed it into a box before closing off the closet and pocketing her wand. With an accomplished sigh, Hermione returned to Draco's side and raised an eyebrow at the awed look marking his usually pristine face. 

"We can go now, Draco," she said softly, lying a hand on his arm. "I'm finished here." 

"Do we have to?" he asked, eyeing the nearest box with a flicker of curiosity in his eye. Hermione smiled softly, surprised at his reaction, and shook her head. 

"No, we don't. No one comes in here without business; Emory said he'd be taking lunch. May I ask why you want to stay?" she asked him, mirth tangled in her speech. Draco turned to her for a fleeting moment, casting a genuine smile before breaking away and moving toward the corner, where a display of cherry caskets sat for show, all fit to no more than a toddler. As Hermione followed, he lifted a hand to run along the seam of the padded cotton interior, which draped over the side to make the box seem more inviting. "Draco?" Hermione asked softly, confused by his quiet vigilance. 

"This is amazing," he said below his breath, lifting the doily-thin skirt to better view the rim of wood. "It's perfect. Look, see how they sanded with the grain? And this finish is brilliant; it must be foreign, I've never seen anything like it. The knots, all placed randomly... perfectly. Cor, it's a masterpiece." 

Hermione, looking childlike in wake of his unorthodox observations, tentatively reached to brush her fingers along the soft finish, feeling the subtle contours of the wood. She saw nothing of the exquisiteness Draco had seen, but kept herself open-minded. He knew a thing or two more about wood than she did. 

"The inside, though," he said, sounding disappointed. "Spell sewn." Hermione glanced up at him, fingers still pressed to the cherry finish, and drew her eyebrows. "It's clean cut that way, yes... but it seems more industrial. The fabric doesn't help either; it's nothing if not generic." Draco sighed. "I'd be honored to rest in this casket, but my last wish would be the millstone of refinishing it." his quiet vigilance. 

aped over the side to make the box seem more inviting. "Draco?" shHermione paused a moment, face rested in a thoughtful frown, then smiled, taking Draco's hand from the lace of the coffin and holding it firmly between her palms. He turned to her, smiling in sheer intrigue. 

"Draco," Hermione said, sounding as if about to break important news. "You are by far the strangest man I have ever met." He frowned slightly, lifting an eyebrow at her, and quickly pulled his hand from its exploratory position on the quilted interior. Hermione laughed softly and released his other limb, bringing her hands to hold the sides of his face and keep contact with his eyes. "I am so glad I found you." She stood on the balls of her feet and pulled him into a slouch, introducing an intimate kiss. He reciprocated, moving one hand to her waist and the other into her hair, pulling her closer and becoming more involved. 

"Come on," Draco said as they broke apart, pulling her toward the empty space between the mahogany and steel sections of the room. "Sit with me; we should talk." Hermione frowned, stopping just feet away from their destination and allowing him to go on ahead of her, copping a squat on the plush carpet. He was grinning, patting the space beside him, and Hermione approached tentatively; it certainly didn't look like he had planned a _talk_. 

She sat down beside him and Draco placed an innocent hand on her upper thigh, kissing her cheek. Hermione forced a smile for his benefit and cuddled up to him, burying her face into his chest so he would not see her trembling chin. Surprised but inspirited, Draco lifted his arm instead to rest over her shoulders, lodging fingers in her hair. He was quiet, and Hermione balled a fist of his shirt in anticipation, breathing rapid puffs of air onto the fabric.

"You said you wanted to... talk about something?" she prodded after a few moments of silence, unable to bear the tension she felt, but which Draco did not seem to notice. He tilted his head back toward the wall, shrugging his shoulders, and continued to meddle idly in her loose locks. 

"No rush, really," he said passively. "I just wanted to be filled in a bit." Hermione loosened her grip on his sweater. 

"Filled in?" she asked and he shrugged again, growing more relaxed with each breath.

"For instance, why did Emory call you Wednesday, and who's Lurch?" he asked and Hermione physically relaxed, feeling herself slouch in his embrace. "All right?" Draco wondered, noticing her behavior, and she sighed, nodding. 

"Mmm," she mumbled in reply. "Lurch is the embalmer; his real name is Tim, but Emory thinks it's funny to pretend we really _are_ the Addams family. So, therefore, I am Wednesday, and he is Lurch. We call Emory Fester in confidence, but it seems to unease him when we do it in front of other people." 

"I figured as much," Draco admitted and sighed in content, peering up at the sky-lit ceiling and smiling at the rain. "I used to tell myself when I was younger that I'd have a room like this when I grew up. I wanted it big and empty, so you could lie on the floor and just watch the storms. And I'd move somewhere that it didn't snow, so I could always see, no matter when I wanted to; France, or Spain even. Maybe the States; it's supposed to rain a lot on the west coast." 

"Did your fantasy involve a pretty girl and a cascade of deathboxes?" Hermione asked, eyes closed, and Draco chuckled, hugging her fleetingly.

"No," he admitted. "But I was a stupid kid; you know that." Hermione laughed softly, and reinstated the quiet; this time much more relaxed. 

"How's Faye?" she asked finally, as if her mind had just then thought of her best mate, and she lifted her head slightly up, eyes now open and explorative of his face. "You must have had a trip on her if she told you where I _worked_." Draco chuckled.

"Yes; that said, note that I did nothing but emotional damage. She's probably home biting her nails, waiting for you to storm in and hex her to death. She's very paranoid; you're her friend, suggest counsel." Hiding her smile in his shirt, Hermione jammed a finger in his ribs as punishment for his words, and Draco overenthusiastically moaned in pain. 

"You know," Hermione said softly once he had calmed his playful taunts. "I probably would have if you'd left me." At this, Draco frowned, tilting his head to kiss her crown. 

"Hermione..." he said warningly, and she nodded, looking up at him.

"I know," she said. "I know better now. The fact of the matter is, Draco, you wouldn't be the first. Nor the second, nor the third. _Never_ has anyone been so unbothered as you are; you almost seem intrigued. I'm beginning to think you're putting on show." 

"I wouldn't," he told her, shaking his head. "Not when I know how much it means to you. I'm here for you now, Hermione; you don't have to think about those other idiots. It was their loss and I wish them luck in finding half your substitute, because more would be impossible." Hermione grinned up at him, her eyes shining with adoration. Draco watched her with a smile, still running nimble fingers over the gush of curls flowing over her shoulder. Hermione's heart swelled, and she allowed herself to grow with it, pushing up to steal a fiery kiss from Draco. She pushed him down to the floor and expertly swung one leg over his hips to straddle him. He enjoyed her for the time she was timid, but broke the kiss with a laugh as she started to pull his undershirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. "What are you doing?" he asked her, smiling, and Hermione returned it.

"I told you I'd make it up to you, last night," she reminded him. "I happen to have two and a quarter hours, give or take." Draco returned the next kiss she placed upon his swelling lips, and laughed softly as they broke again. 

"Are you sure? I'm all for new experiences, but this is a bit... odd, don't you think?"

"We are not normal people, Draco," Hermione told him, smirking playfully. "I find joy in corpses, and you are mesmerized by knotholes. Somehow, I see this as fitting." He returned her mischievous guise. 

"And I could never disagree." 

-x- -x- -x-

Hermione entered her apartment mechanically and went about the task of removing her shoes and hanging her coat. She groaned softly, leaning backward in a stretch, and shuffled toward the kitchen, expecting Faye to be dining over her textbook. The room was empty of person, but full of food; evidently, Faye had taken the fall and had made a trip to the superette, as the open cupboards were filled with more than a week's worth of groceries and the countertops were littered with receipts and a balance sheet. Faye enjoyed knowing exactly how much money was in their shared bank account at all times, and would balance her checkbook at least once a day. 

On the breakfast bar, a Styrofoam container harbored warming Chinese waited patiently for Hermione to consume it. She smiled softly at Faye's thought, as she most certainly did not feel like cooking, and popped a spoonful of rice into her mouth before making her way toward the bathroom. It did not occur to her until after her ritualistic shower that Faye had not pounced on her the moment she had entered the door, wanting details and biting back an 'I told you so'. 

With her damp hair twisted into a bun atop her head, to ensure flowing waves as opposed to bushy curls, Hermione strode purposefully down the hall to Faye's room, listening through the wood to make sure her flatmate was alone before knocking softly on the door. 

"Faye?" she asked softly, hoping not to wake her if she were for some reason asleep. "Are you all right?" There was no answer to her calls, and Hermione began to wonder if her flatmate was even at home. She turned the door knob slowly and cracked the slab open to peer into the room. Faye was sitting cross-legged on her bed, a marked book resting near her knee. She looked up with a devastating frown as Hermione appeared. 

"I'm sorry," Faye stated without provocation, dropping her head into her hands. "I didn't mean to. He... he just makes me so _mad_, I don't think and... Blimey, Manny, _I'm sorry_." Hermione grinned and pushed the door open, entering the room and taking a seat on the edge of her friend's bed. 

"It's all right, Faye; really." 

"No, it's not all right; now you really _will_ be a spinster with a thousand cats and it's _my_ fault," she moaned, shaking her head, and Hermione laughed aloud. Faye looked up, startled.

"I mean it, Faye. It's okay; I'm okay, Draco's okay... we're okay. He didn't care, Faye. He more than didn't care; he touched me, while I was working. Before I'd even washed my hands." The blonde let her jaw drop as she stared at her friend. 

"_Really_?" she asked, voice hushed in awe, and Hermione nodded. "Cor, you must be _soul-mates_." Hermione squealed. 

"I know; isn't it amazing? I'd never have thought... even my _mother_ hates me for this. He said it just makes me more interesting," she spouted, falling backward on the bed. Faye straightened, as if a thought had recently impacted her mind frame. 

"Well?" she asked. "Now that I can stop wallowing in my misery over losing for you the man of your dreams, I do get details, do I not? What happened last night?" Hermione laughed softly and sighed. 

"Not much, honestly. I tutored Marin, as I said... I'm really beginning to worry about her. I think she needs to open up to someone and I hate to say it, but if it can't be me I don't think it's going to happen. I'm all she really has; her father isn't one and her mother is practically comatose," she trailed off, frowning. Faye rolled her eyes. 

"That's all terrible and sad, but I was talking about with _Blondie_." 

"Oh, right," Hermione recalled, smiling. "Well, we watched the game and I fell asleep. The Deuces won, unfortunately. Then, we had a wonderful snog... until I had to break it off because I had to bloody _work_ in the morning. He convinced me to stay, but nothing happened. We went to sleep and I left before he woke up." 

"Aw, well that's disappointing," Faye said, slumping, and Hermione nodded in agreement, swinging her feet off the side of the cot. "What about this afternoon?" Hermione grinned wickedly.

"Much more interesting," she stated illusively, spiking Faye's attention. "He came in and I thought for sure it was the end of it, and I told him to leave and get it over with... but he stayed and, oh God, Faye, he was so sweet about everything. I didn't know what to make of it. He came to take me for lunch, and eventually we _did_ go, but it was a little rushed." Faye lifted an eyebrow.

"What does that mean?" she wondered suggestively, and Hermione smirked. 

"Well, in payment for an extra hour added to my lunch, I brought a casket to the warehouse for Emory, and Draco wanted to go with me," she said, staring dreamily at the ceiling. Faye anticipated her continuance. "He fell in love with a certain cherry wood model type Legacy, and we had a conversation concerning spell stitching and the placement of wood knots. After a while, we left and went to lunch. Then, he went home and I went back to Emory." 

"Wait, wait, wait," Faye interrupted, trying to get her figures straight. "You said Emory gave you an _extra hour_ for lunch, correct?" 

"Mm-hm," Hermione agreed, nodding and swinging her feet.

"So you had a _two and a half_ hour conversation about stitches and wood? Give or take for a quote '_rushed_ lunch'?" 

"No," she said passively. "Only about fifteen minutes." Faye stared for a moment and realization dawned on her face. 

"You didn't," she stated, and Hermione tried to look innocent. "You did! Hermione, you minx!" A sly smile forced itself onto Hermione's face and Faye squealed. "How was it?" Hermione groaned and rolled onto her side, drawing herself into a fetal position.

"_Amazing_," she praised, falling into memories. "Especially after my four year sexual sabbatical. The carpet was scratchy, though." Pausing in the indulgence of the imbrued fabrications which played through her mind, Faye pondered Hermione's afterthought. Merely a moment later, she gasped. 

"You did it in the _death house_? Ugh, I think I'm going to lose my chicken chow mein."

"Shut your gob; I think it's romantic, if creepily so. I won't be able to see a casket now without thinking about it." 

"Oh, and that's a wonderful memento, I would agree," Faye noted sarcastically and Hermione sighed, shaking her head. 

"You'd have to feel it, Faye. You couldn't possibly understand." 

"Hey," she scolded, pointing a finger. "I told you once he's not my type." With a disgusted moan, she placed a hand over her stomach. "And I've never been more sure." 

-x- -x- -x-

A/N: Yes, a little shorter than normal, but there is a time change sequence coming right now that happens to involve a whole lot of explanation. Next chapter will hopefully be the end of Part 1 (I don't know if anyone noticed, but there are multiple parts to this story; they'll all be under Green Glass. We're still in part one). So it seemed only obvious to stop here. 

Emory is not gay. I was planning to make him gay, but I changed my mind as I really didn't have reason to make him that way; it was a spur of the moment sort of idea. So, now he's just an old grandpa-like figure. I did change that part in the last chapter about him calling Draco 'cute'. Now he calls him 'Laddy' :oD Review; I think it's fixed now! Oh, and sorry to anyone who got a thousand updates for TUB9... _it wasn't my fault_. Common belief seemed to have been that I reposted my chapter over and over and over... but I don't' know why, because that would be stupid. Thank you for your concern though. I didn't, it was bloody ff.net. 


	7. Tokens of Love

Theretofore on GG:

"You did it in the _death house_? Ugh, I think I'm going to lose my chicken chow mein."

"Shut your gob; I think it's romantic, if creepily so. I won't be able to see a casket now without thinking about it." 

"Oh, and that's a wonderful memento, I would agree," Faye noted sarcastically and Hermione sighed, shaking her head. 

"You'd have to feel it, Faye. You couldn't possibly understand." 

"Hey," she scolded, pointing a finger. "I told you once he's not my type." With a disgusted moan, she placed a hand over her stomach. "And I've never been more sure." 

-----------------------------------

Chapter 7: Tokens of Love

"_Hermione_," Draco whispered, sounding irritated, but his voice melded quickly into concern. "Tell me what's wrong." Hermione shook her head, dabbing her eyes with the crumpled handkerchief she had stolen from his pocket. 

"Nothing, Draco; it's the movie," she insisted, chin trembling as she gestured toward the large white screen. Draco looked utterly confused. 

"It's an_ action _film!" he stated, raising his voice slightly, and was answered with an unappreciative 'shh' from the sparse crowd which dotted the theater. He slumped down into his seat, looking not at all happy to be impeded. Hermione linked her arms around one of his, her tears falling onto his shoulder, and continued to watch the silver screen. 

"Oh," she cried in whisper, sniffling and holding her handkerchief to her running nose. "This is my favorite part!" 

"Really? Well, what are you going to do now, then? You've wasted ninety percent of your body's stored liquid on the first two hours; what's left for the climax? Are you going to literally dissolve into a puddle?" Draco asked, slightly annoyed, and Hermione pinched him, ignoring his comments. Rolling his eyes, Draco shifted to allow her access to his chest, which she gladly settled into, and occupied the last twenty minutes of the extravagantly explosive film by playing with her hair and marking random kisses. 

Hermione had calmed down in time to see the credits start to roll and Draco felt decidedly less uneasy. He led her into the nearly deserted lobby of the theater, convinced by the large smile on her face that it really somehow was the movie that had started her uncharacteristic waterworks. 

"I'm surprised you don't cry during Quidditch," he said offhandedly, and Hermione poked him in the ribs while she laughed. 

"Shh; it's a _muggle_ theater," she reminded in whisper, but Draco merely shrugged, brushing it off as nothing. Hermione shook her head at him and placed a kiss near his jawbone. "I'm going to make a quick trip to the loo before we go. You don't mind, do you?" Draco chuckled and shook his head, pushing her toward the bathroom. Hermione smiled over her shoulder at him as she entered, leaving Draco alone in the quiet foyer. With nothing to do and no one to watch, he quickly found himself bored. She was taking a very feminine amount of time and Draco grew easily jaded. With a soft sigh, he leaned against the wall near the ladies room and waited patiently for his Hermione to return. 

Before she could, however, Draco's curiosity was peeked by an unidentifiable sound. When it happened again, he could easily classify it as someone suffering from a quite violent bout of sickness and Draco immediately assumed it was Hermione. There was little chance any other women were rooming with her; at midmorning on a Wednesday, the theater was nearly empty. 

Draco was torn. He was itching to break the gender barrier and become her knight in shining armor, but there was something about entering a women's restroom that pricked at his conscience. Draco pressed an ear to the wood of the door and could easily hear that she was crying again. Void of conscious thought, he pushed through the entrance and dropped to the floor, scanning the stalls for sign of any damsel in distress. Hermione was crumpled to the ground in cubicle number three, sobbing now that her stomach had given her a moment's ease. Draco's feet drove him directly to her side and he knocked lightly on the plastic of the door. 

"Hermione? Let me in," he said, sounding very concerned, and could hear Hermione's surprise as she attempted to compose herself and flushed away her mess. Without standing, she reached and slid the lock back out of place, allowing him entry. Draco opened the door and dropped to his knees to be level with her, placing one hand on her back and using the other to wipe away some straying tears. 

"_Draco_," she hissed softly, "You're not supposed to be _in_ here." Draco laughed mildly and kissed her forehead. 

"I know; I couldn't help it," he admitted and his face grew slightly dim. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick? I would have taken you home." Hermione shook her head, falling victim to a sob. 

"I wasn't; I'm not. I feel perfectly fine, I don't know _what's_ wrong with me. This is definitely the oddest flu I've ever had," she joked, laughing once through her tears. Draco sighed. 

"Don't cry, love. It's not that bad; you'll be all right," he said comfortingly, but Hermione shook her head, wiping at her dampened cheeks. 

"I can't help it. I'm trying, but I don't know what's wrong, so I don't know how to make myself feel better," she explained, pressing her palms to her eyelids. Draco sighed, feeling useless and inadequate. As he searched futilely for something to say, Hermione slowly calmed, controlling her breathing. Draco looked up, hoping she would retain no further discomfort and Hermione paused for a moment, fingers pressed lightly over her lips as she stared at a spot on the wall. Time seemed to stand fleetingly still, until she spun with a sudden burst of energy and vomited ferociously into the porcelain basin. 

-x- -x- -x-

"Hermione, are you gaining weight?" 

Hermione stopped in her tracks, causing the shopping cart to screech softly as it came to a halt. She turned to Marin, who was standing idly by, eyes locked on the lobster tank near the deli. 

"Well, that was a little tactless, wouldn't you say?" she asked with a smile permanently planted her face. Marin blushed and turned away from the lobsters. 

"Sorry," she said and Hermione laughed, beginning again to push the cart. "It's not _bad_, you know. Just an observation; in my opinion, you could use it." Knitting her brows, Hermione looked down at herself. 

"I did think my jeans were a little snug this morning," she admitted, turning to look down her side. "Is it really that noticeable? Draco hasn't said anything." 

"Well of course he hasn't," Marin chided. "You picked yourself a good grape, Manny. Draco's much too nice to say anything even if he did notice it, and he loves _you_ too much to notice your stomach." Hermione sighed. 

"Well, go down that aisle and get me some lite yogurt instead," she said, handing Marin the tub of pineapple yogurt which had occupied a first class seat in her cart. 

"Manny..." the girl warned, "It's nothing to worry about." 

"You, my dear, are much too young to understand. You have to be careful with matters of the masses when you grow to be my age. At first you won't mind, might even enjoy it, and before you know it you've gained twenty pounds and have to spend your car insurance money on a new wardrobe."

"You don't even _have_ a car." 

"Just be a good girl and fetch me what I asked you?" Hermione asked condescendingly, as if speaking to a child, and Marin rolled her eyes. 

"Classy, Man. Really classy." 

"Now, let's see..." Hermione mumbled as her student made the requested trip to the refrigerated section. When Marin returned and replaced the yogurt, Hermione smiled at her. "What do you think of beef for dinner?" Marin shrugged. 

"Why are you asking me?" 

"Well, you're to be eating, aren't you? You must; I won't allow you to decline this time, love. I've already promised Draco, and you know how much he adores you," Hermione insisted, smiling archly, and Marin smirked in return. 

"Oh, I know. You realize he only likes me because I let him win at checkers, don't you?" she stated and Hermione laughed. 

"What? You _let_ him?" 

"Well of course I did; you were bragging so much about your winning streak that I felt sorry for the poor bloke. No man likes to be beaten by a woman. I'm almost fifteen; he'd be emotionally scarred if I crushed him too," Marin explained, eyeing her mentor as if she thought her motives obvious. 

"That reminds me," Hermione stated, changing the subject. "Your birthday's coming up." 

"_Please_, let's _not_ have this conversation again," Marin groaned, gaining a chuckle from her unorthodox sister. "It's the same thing every year. You ask what I want, I tell you not to get me anything, and you end up buying me something completely extravagant which I then feel obligated to refuse, but you always insist and I end up keeping it anyway. For the sake of time needed to cook this beef we plan to have for dinner, let's just pretend all that already happened?" 

"Well, aren't you just a witty one today?" Hermione asked sarcastically, mussing the hair atop Marin's head. She glared halfheartedly, fixing her locks and pulling a hood to cover them. "Ohh," Hermione said in awe as she scanned the dressing aisle with her gaze. "What about Ranch dressing? Oh, or Thousand Island? Something different. What do you think?" Marin's face contorted in disgust. 

"I think you better make that optional."

"Oh, sucks to you," Hermione jested, waving a finger in the raven haired girl's face. "You've just no taste, is all. I'm sure Draco will love it." Marin held up her hands in defense. 

"Fine, do whatever you want; let's just stop at the drugstore for some antacid tablets on our way back." 

"Ha, ha," Hermione tutted, and the banter died at her sarcastic clicks. There was just enough silence for Hermione to choose between wheat and rye rolls before Marin reinitiated conversation. 

"I have a Maths exam on Tuesday. Do you think you could help me study?" 

"Of course, I..." Hermione started immediately, but paused halfway between the tying of her bread bag and the placing of it in her carriage. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, sounding honestly so. "I have an appointment on Monday afternoon. I have to drive into the city, I probably won't be back before seven or eight." Marin's face dramatically fell. She shook her head. 

"It's all right; I can ask Billy if we can study in his tree house. He's not too much better than I am, but maybe we can figure it out together," she said, hoping to not attain a pity speech from her mentor. Hermione sighed, biting her bottom lip. 

"I'll tell you what," she said finally, holding an index finger to the ceiling in 'eureka'. "I'll devote my entire Sunday to you. I'm sure Draco won't mind; his store could use the business hours anyway. Actually, he could probably do with a lesson himself." Marin bit back her polite decline and furrowed her eyebrows. 

"Draco has his own store? I just thought he worked at one," she asked and Hermione paused again, realizing her mistake. It wouldn't do any good to lie to Marin; she had a way of squeezing the truth from a person. 

"Well... yes. He owns a two story building and lives upstairs while he runs the boutique on the first floor. It's a quaint place."

Marin seemed to consider her words for a moment, then her eyes lit up with mischief. 

"That's why we never go there, isn't it? It's some sort of _porn_ dealership."

"_What_?" Hermione snapped in surprise, frightening an elderly woman who was sampling cheese. "Of course it isn't! How could you even fabricate such an untruth? You know very well that Draco is in the antique business." Marin sighed, nodding. 

  
"Yes, I know. It just sounded much more fantastic that way." 

"I'm not sure your fantasies are fit for a girl of fourteen."

"I'm almost fifteen," Marin cried in defense, but it did little good in her case. She crossed her arms and changed the topic. "So, why _don't_ we ever go to Draco's house?" 

"Because mine is much more fun. End of discussion." 

"Well, I'm sorry," Marin bit sarcastically. "I didn't realize you were so _sensitive_ about it." 

"I'll wash your mouth with soap," Hermione threatened. 

"I'd like to see you try." 

"Oh, I have my ways, love. You just count on that." 

-x- -x- -x- 

Draco stared at her, sitting cross legged on the sofa of her living room with pale fingers curled around a book and hair done up in a haphazard ponytail. She wore the same pajamas he expected she had a fifteen, innocent and patterned with some sort of cartoon cat, white and pristine. She seemed to enjoy ignoring his presence, captured by the tale drawn in text that lay before her, turning pages with unbelievable speed. He couldn't help but admire her focus and the way she allowed nothing to even slow her eyes from their rapid journey. It made him see her almost as a different person. 

Sighing against his sentimental nothingness, Draco shifted position on the stool at the breakfast bar and propped his head on a hand, drumming his twitchy fingers against the surface of the counter. 

At the break in concentration, her eyes stopped moving. Draco noticed and ceased his drumming momentarily, lifting a hand to wave to her as she brought her gaze to rest upon his brow. She sighed. 

"I told you, Draco," Faye said, "She didn't expect to be home until late. What's so important that you have to see her _now_ anyway? Can't you spend a _day_ apart?" 

"What makes you think you know everything?" he asked without scorn, happy to be entertained with conversation. "And for your information, I didn't see her at _all_ yesterday. She spent our Sunday tutoring Marin, and I am perfectly fine with that." Faye rolled her eyes. 

"Whatever you say, Blondie," she mumbled, turning back to her reading, but Draco was not ready to finish the conversation. His mind was left to wander when there was silence and as Faye was the only observable subject in proximity, it was not his first choice of ways to pass the time. 

"If you must know, I planned to ask her something tonight. If I don't do it soon, I fear I might never," he explained, and her head snapped to attention upon registering his words. She approached her response carefully.

"You don't plan to _propose_, do you? I mean, you're a great guy and everything, but..." 

"_No_," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Not that it'd be any of your business, if I was." 

"All right, all right," Faye said in defense. "No questions; noted. I'll just sit here; feel free to have a one sided conversation in which I fear responding for anticipation of reprimand." Draco gave her a cool glare, but did not dignify her sarcasm with a response. Despite his attempt to force feed conversation, the room again lapsed into silence. Faye returned to her reading and he allowed his head to fall to the countertop, groaning in boredom. 

Hermione entered the apartment at half past seven, looking decidedly flustered and troubled. 

"Faye," she said, striding directly toward her friend. "I need..." she started, but cut herself off as she saw Draco seated in the kitchen, a large red mark tattooed onto his forehead. Hermione stopped breathing momentarily, staring like a deer caught in headlights. When she regained her composure, she strode purposefully to her bedroom and shut the door behind her without another word. Draco and Faye shared a look of confusion and simultaneously stood to follow her. 

"Hermione?" Draco asked, knocking quickly on her door. "What happened?" There was a period of silence from behind the door and Draco listened carefully for any response. "Hermione?" he called again, sounding exponentially concerned, and the door swung quickly open to reveal an incredibly happy Hermione. She had lost all of the distress she had shown in the living room, looking now carefree and overly excited. 

"Hi!" she greeted enthusiastically, creating creases of confusion in the marred skin of Draco's forehead. Faye was slowly making her way back down the hallway, leaving the lovers in peace, though she looked back suspiciously. 

"What was that about?" Draco asked, befuddlement evident in his speech. Hermione emitted a very false laugh. 

"Oh," she said. "I... I had your Christmas present; I didn't want you to see. I'm sorry." Hermione pushed herself up to kiss him and Draco relaxed, looking relieved and enlightened. She smiled. "So, what are you doing here? I did tell you I had an engagement this evening, didn't I?" Draco nodded. 

"Yes, but I wanted to talk to you. Is that all right?" he asked, and Hermione bit her bottom lip, nodding eagerly and pulling him into her bedroom. "Hermione," Draco continued once they were both seated and settled on her bed. Hermione listened intently. "You know, it makes five months tomorrow since the reunion in July." Tilting her head to the side, Hermione nodded. She too had been counting the days. "Well," Draco began again. "I have something I've been meaning to give you for a while, and now seems an opportune time to do it." He reached into his jacket pocket and watched as Hermione's eyes widened. 

Draco held his hand forward, clasped in a fist around some material object. Hermione felt her heart begin to beat faster; she couldn't help but to wonder if he was going to propose. Quickly, she tried to rummage something to say in response, but her mind was left blank. As his fingers began to open, she could concentrate on nothing but her breathing. Draco slowly uncurled his fist, and Hermione's chest swelled as she caught a glint of gold in his palm. She held her breath and Draco presented a splayed hand before her. 

"A key?" she asked after a moment of silence, sounding skeptical. Draco laughed. 

"Yes, a key; to my apartment," he said, lifting her hand from its place in her lap and placing the gold key within it.

"All this drama, just to give me a key?" she asked, relaxing and fiddling with the new object amusedly. Draco gave a slight nod. 

"Well, there's a bit more," he said and sounded nervous. Hermione looked up, eyes curious, and Draco swallowed. "I want you to move in with me." He said it quickly, like tearing off a bandage, and stunned Hermione into a semi-long pause. 

"I... I don't know what to say," she admitted after a moment. "You know I'd love to, but I can't just pack up and leave..." Draco nodded in agreement before she had even finished her thought. 

"I know; I know that. This would pose a certain problem for Faye, I realize, and I understand if you want to talk it over with her first and work things out. You don't have to answer now; I just wanted to ask," he said, running nervous fingers through his hair. "It's quite a relief, really." 

Hermione crawled slightly forward and initiated a heartfelt kiss in thank you before moving back to again inspect her key. Draco smiled. 

"You know, there's one more thing," he admitted and Hermione looked up. She felt her heart begin to quicken again. "I have another key," Draco stated, calming her before she could show any sign of nervous anticipation. Hermione exhaled softly. "And a proposition." He produced the second key from his breast pocket, holding it out to her. "I think we should tell Marin about us." Hermione looked confused. 

"Marin? She _does_ know about us, Draco... and what part does she play in this?" 

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. "About our _magic_. I know she's a muggle, but it wouldn't be the first to ever learn of us. Your parents were muggles too, and they've posed no harm to our world. I think we can trust her; I'm starting to take a liking to her." He smiled, and Hermione returned it ten fold. 

"All right," she agreed. "I've been debating for years; I love her so much, I hate lying to her. If you think we should, I can't disagree." Draco gave a nod.

"Good. Now, that other key is for her, even if you don't decide to leave this apartment just yet. I think you're right about her home life, and it makes me uneasy. I want her to know that she has somewhere to go if she gets in trouble. With a good pair of shoes, my place is just healthy walking distance," he explained, speaking softly to show his concern, and Hermione gaped for a moment, speechless. When she regained composure, she gave an excited squeal, leaping into his arms and embracing him. 

"Oh, you're unbelievable," she praised, pulling back to place an exaggerated kiss on his lips. "Cor, I think this has been the happiest day of my life." Draco chuckled. 

"What about the day you met _me_? Wasn't that a good day?" he teased, and Hermione gave a great 'ha'. 

"Are you kidding? Draco, the day I met you, you sneered at me, pushed me down, and spat at my shoes. Definitely not a good day," she reminded him and Draco pouted. "Yes, yes, I know; you were a stupid kid. I couldn't agree more," Hermione agreed, grinning from ear to ear. She kissed him again, more seriously, and smiled softly as they broke apart. "You should go home; it's already pitch black outside. Please? If you stay much longer, I'll worry about you." 

"Trying to get rid of me already?" he prodded and she gave him half a smile. "All right, all right." Hermione led Draco through the living room where he bid a fleeting goodbye to Faye, and kissed him goodnight at the door. In spite of Faye's rule about in-home apparition, Draco disappeared with a loud crack just outside the threshold, making her visibly jump. She glared at the door as Hermione closed it, a wide grin still plastered on her face. 

"Inconsiderate, incompetent, pigheaded, irritating..." Faye mumbled as she closed her book, ready to prod Hermione for details. She sighed once her flatmate had sat down, grinning foolishly at the ceiling. "What's got you so happy?" 

"Well," Hermione started suggestively, casting a look at her friend which made Faye lift her eyebrows in curiosity. "A few things." 

"What was that thing he absolutely _had_ to ask you?" 

"He asked me to move in with him," Hermione admitted, but quickly continued before Faye could voice the question of her future if the Gryffindor were to accept her boyfriend's offer. "But that's not all; he gave me a key for Marin; he wants her to have somewhere to go if something happens. Can you believe that? He understands _everything_." 

"Hermione..." Faye said, speaking softly and with utmost concern. "I'm happy for you, really, but I _do_ have a problem with this arrangement. We've joked about it, sure, but...what am I supposed to do? I can't afford this apartment on my own." 

"Faye," Hermione said, shaking her head to calm her friend's worries. "I haven't said yes yet; Draco knows about our situation. I _promise_; I will not leave you until I am absolutely _sure_ you'll be all right without me. If that means I have to wait until you graduate, then so be it. For now, I have bigger problems that need _immediate _attention." Faye lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"I was at the doctor this afternoon," Hermione admitted, fighting the urge to move her hand to rest below her breasts. "In the city; the women's clinic." Faye's curiosity grew into blatant worry. She felt guilty for concerning Hermione with her living arrangements when she had _living_ to worry about. 

"God, Hermione," she said softly, clasping Hermione's hand between her own. "What is it?" The brunette sighed, preparing herself for the first break of news. She turned to her blonde friend and offered a half smile. 

"I'm pregnant." 

-----------------------------------

A/N: I know, cheapest cliffhanger in the book. I'm sorry. I tried very hard to make Hermione seem pregnant without it being too obvious or overdone. I looked it up, and honestly, cravings and vomiting are pretty much the only outwardly appearing signs that you might be pregnant. Others are like, sore and enlarged breasts and of course, menstrual deficiency. I hope this wasn't too tacky. Marin _will_ play a role in this story in the future, I promise you. She's not just some character I put in to eat up some of Hermione's time. 

I lied; there will be _at least_ one more chapter before the next "part". I really should stop making promises like that; I always seem to break them :oD


	8. Blues

Theretofore on GG:

"I was at the doctor this afternoon," Hermione admitted, fighting the urge to move her hand to rest below her breasts. "In the city; the women's clinic." Faye's curiosity grew into blatant worry. She felt guilty for concerning Hermione with her living arrangements when she had _living_ to worry about. 

"God, Hermione," she said softly, clasping Hermione's hand between her own. "What is it?" The brunette sighed, preparing herself for the first break of news. She turned to her blonde friend and offered a half smile. 

"I'm pregnant." 

-----------------------------------

Chapter 8: Blues

Faye sat speechless, staring at Hermione as she wrung her hands and bit a lesion in her lip.

"Pregnant? You're sure?" she asked tentatively and her flatmate nodded with eyes entranced by her lap.

"I had no idea. I went in for a rudimentary pelvic exam, and the next thing I knew they were asking my permission to administer a pregnancy test. In retrospect, I should have had some sort of suspicion. I've been sick a lot lately, eating abnormally, gaining weight... when I had to use the next set of hooks on my bra, I should have known _something_ was wrong." 

"It's called subliminal denial. Literally, your brain won't _let_ you realize," Faye said, placing a comforting hand on Hermione's arm as the distraught brunette covered her face with quaking hands. "How long?" 

"Three months, already," Hermione said softly, rubbing at her eyes. Faye looked surprised. 

"Blimey. Damn, Manny, you look _good_ for three months," she blurted, making her flatmate laugh, and Faye gave a half smile, pulling Hermione's head to her chest. They sat in comfortable silence until the blonde girl found her face contorting in confusion. "Wait; does that mean...?" Hermione smiled, nodding against Faye's cotton pajamas. 

"The casket house," she validated and her pillow shuddered. 

"I _told_ you that was a bad idea." 

"Yes, well, it certainly didn't seem so at the time," Hermione said, laughing softly, but a little frown soon returned to her face. "I want my mummy," she admitted childishly, sniffling as Faye tightened her embrace. It was well known between them that Hermione's parents had divorced when she was seventeen, finalized just weeks before graduation, and her father had left to become a missing person. She had stopped accepting his phone calls after he had waited nearly an entire year to contact her and his pathetic efforts soon dulled to nothing. It had been years since Hermione had even bookmarked a current address.

Hermione's mother, left alone to pay her daughter's tuition, had endured a few months of heavy stress and suffered a fatal stroke when Hermione had aged only 19. 

"I'm sorry, Manny," Faye whispered comfortingly, stroking her flatmate's hair and holding her tightly. "I take it you haven't told Draco?" Hermione shook her head. 

"I don't know how; I don't know what to say, or how he'll react. What am I supposed to do?" 

"Don't worry so much," Faye suggested, smiling slightly. "Draco wanted to take the next step, didn't he?" Hermione laughed dryly. 

"This is more than a step, Faye. I've practically pushed him down the entire staircase." 

"I'm sorry, love," Faye said, sighing softly, "but you don't have much choice. You can tell Draco now and risk a doubtful negative reaction, discuss it and decide together, or make a decision yourself as to what to do, as much as I frown upon your 'choices'." Hermione sat up, wiping her eyes. 

"What do you mean... _choices_?" 

"The three A's of unplanned pregnancy," she explained. "Acceptation, adoption, and... abortion." Hermione audibly gasped. 

"Of course not!" she burst in defense. "What do you take me for, Faye? I am keeping my baby, no matter what Draco or anyone else says. Yes, it was a mistake, but it was _my_ mistake and I accept the consequences. I couldn't live with myself otherwise; knowing I'd _killed_ my own child or... or walking past someone on the street and wondering, _could it be_?" Faye smiled widely. 

"In that case, congratulations. If my opinion counts for anything, I'd like you know that I second your decision. I put my money on Draco doing the same thing," she said and Hermione's anger dissolved again into worry. 

"But what if he doesn't?" 

"He will. And, for better or for worse, you'll always have me. I might not be much right now, but I'll help in any way I can," Faye assured. Hermione smiled and rested her head against her shoulder. 

"Thank you," she whispered in return and the room again gave way to silence. When Hermione felt her eyes begin to lose focus, she forced herself to remain conscious and sat up. "I've had an incredibly long day. I think I'll turn in early." Faye nodded in agreement. 

"You should. 'Night Manny; I'll put in a housing claim first thing tomorrow," she said over her shoulder, leafing through her book to find her forgotten page. Hermione, who was half way to the little hallway, stopped short and turned around. 

"Why?" she asked, brows woven, and ran a hand over the slight swell of her abdomen. Faye smiled up at her. 

"Well, this changes things. I'm not about to force you and your baby away from its father. You _should_ be with Draco right now; he should be just as miserable as you are, waiting on you hand and foot and doing everything you tell him to. The sooner I find a dorm, the better."

"Faye," Hermione said, coming back for one last embrace. "You're the best friend I've ever had. I'd marry you, but certain circumstances suggest me to decide otherwise." Faye laughed and pushed her friend away. 

"Go to bed; you have to talk to Draco tomorrow," she said, shooing her away, and Hermione frowned, sighing. 

"Don't remind me." 

-x- -x- -x-

"Good morning, love," Draco said cheerfully as he entered the showroom, coming up to Hermione and kissing her cheek as he encircled his arms around her tightly from behind. "Why didn't you tell me you were here?" Hermione smiled from her stool behind the counter, placing her pencil down and turning her mind away from bookkeeping long enough to relish his embrace. 

"I didn't want to wake you," she said, shrugging a shoulder. "I couldn't sleep, so I got up early and decided to come over and get a jump start on your finances." Draco squeezed her closer and placed a second, more audible kiss below her ear. Hermione giggled as he released her. 

"You really are too good to me," he told her as he turned and disappeared into the back room. Hermione smiled after him before turning back to her figures, mildly depressed by the return of silence in the little storeroom. However personal and quaint the shop seemed to be, it was always somewhat accompanied by a feeling of loneliness. As if reading her mind, Draco returned to the front of the store without more than five minutes of delay, carrying in his arms a wooden chest filled with a myriad of unfinished pine pieces. 

"What's all that?" Hermione asked, lifting her head to watch as Draco set the box on the floor in front of the children's section. He smiled at her. 

"A little project. I didn't sleep well last night either; stayed up for quite a bit, just whittling. I have a nasty habit of starting a piece and losing interest, so I decided to finish up all my partials. Mostly little toys and snitches," he explained passively, opening the little chest and unloading enough animals to fill Noah's ark; lions, horses, hippos, unicorns, peccaries, and various types of birds all littered the now bursting shelf, unfinished, but sanded and smooth; ready for any craftsman to hand paint and personalize. 

Hermione watched him until his train of animals ceased and gave way to heaps of decorative snitches; pre-charmed to flutter and dash like any of their golden cousins. Draco smiled at her, arms laden with fledged balls, and disappeared around the row of furniture displayed in the center of the room, feet directed toward the Quidditch section of the shop. With a sigh and wistful smile, Hermione turned again to her calculations. 

Her face dropped completely as she registered the task at hand. As far as she could tell, Draco's monthly income varied from two hundred galleons profit to _negative_ two hundred galleons profit. In fact, more often than not, he was lucky to break even. Hermione knew Draco, and she knew that he had no problem making two boxes of cereal and a gallon of milk last an entire week, but she had a feeling that her salary, however many overtime hours she clocked, would barely keep the two of them and a little one alive. Hermione had not lied to Draco about her excruciatingly restless night, but did understate just how long she had been doing figures in the meager light of his unopened shop. It had barely broken dawn when she had appeared outside, using her brand new key to allow herself entry, and now that the clock had passed ten, it marked her fourth hour of study. 

As promised and recited, Hermione dove right into Draco's accounts, calculating and figuring the first month with optimistic ease until she came to a final conclusion of three galleons, twelve sickles, and thirteen knuts profit. She recalculated the entire month, sure she had made some elemental and abominable mistake, but only to receive the same answer. With woven brows and a troubled mind, Hermione rooted one hand on her stomach as she took a break from Draco's bookkeeping to estimate her own expenses. 

Hermione, too, was a modest spender with a relatively small paycheck. She worked on commission and if no one had died, there would be no extra cash come payday. Emory's Mortuary was a small, personally run parlor which resided in a small town and on average saw only four to five elderly per week provided no tragedy had occurred. For this reason, Hermione was forced to be conscientious of her spending and only indulge when her paycheck was more than enough to pay her share of bills for both the ending week and the approaching. 

For the time being, remaining optimistic that Draco would offer his full support, Hermione estimated her average salary and factored in the fact that living with Draco would mean no payment needed for utilities. Once this was finished, she had successfully worked herself into an uneasy and agonized state. The amount in total would be by no means enough for hospital bills, diapers, baby clothes, and anything else the little one might need. Even then, Hermione herself would need new clothes as her stomach grew and would lose a hefty sum when off work on maternity leave. Some things could be taken care of inexpensively; Draco could build any new furniture and his creativity in toy making would be enough to entertain any toddler. Negatively, the time and materials needed to create these things would mean loss of business; something they literally could not afford. And still, this was under the optimism that Draco would be willing to sacrifice his life for the sake of their child. 

"Something wrong, love?" he asked as he returned from his trip around the bend. "I'm not that far in the hole, am I?" Hermione shook her head, forcing a smile on her lips. _Not yet, you're not._

"You're fine; I was just taking a break. Thinking- you know," she explained, sinking her teeth slightly into the tab of pink rubber at the end of her marker. Draco exhaled upwardly, making a lock of hair flutter in front of his face, and rested his elbows on the countertop, facing his girlfriend with a brilliant smile. 

"I really appreciate you doing this for me, Hermione," he said seriously. "I know it isn't exactly going to be the highlight of your week." Hermione offered him half a smile. _On the contrary..._

"It's nothing," she assured, shaking her head. "I'm actually glad to be doing it. Makes me feel quite a bit better about _my_ paycheck. You made an impressive G12.6.27* last month, did you know?" Draco smiled, lifting a shoulder. 

"Gets me by. It's not so bad being poor if you're doing something you like to do. Just your classic snobby-little-rich-boy looking for a simpler life." 

"If Hogwarts could hear your now," Hermione teased, flicking the tip of his nose with her finger, and Draco grinned. 

"That reminds me; I want to show you something," he said hurriedly and dashed again into the back, leaving Hermione momentarily alone in the showcase. When Draco returned, he was again holding a box. This one was made of cardboard, covered with brightly colored paper and topped with a ribbon bow. Hermione lifted her eyebrow, and tried to recall if the date had any special significance. 

"Draco?" she asked in confusion and he grinned. 

"Not for you, I'm afraid," he admitted with a crooked smile, settling the package carefully on the countertop. "For Marin's birthday." Draco spoke passively, dismissing the conversation for favor of removing the lid and uncloaking his masterpiece. He reached inside the box to carefully extract whatever marvel lay within and Hermione watched with intense curiosity and interest.  

She gasped as she saw it; a scale model of Hogwarts and all its grounds, complete with an ominous castle, Quidditch pitch, greenhouses, a lake (garnished with squid), forest, and a little mini Hogsmeade. The landscape was dotted with magical creatures, such as various unicorns, centaurs, and a grand Mushussu, that most likely would not be seen on school grounds, but accented the mood of the piece with mystery and mysticism. The highlight of the wooden wonder, though rivaled by the intricate castle and detailed beasts, was a scarlet train on golden tracks which made continuous circles around the elevated campus, slowing to a stop ever so often at Hogsmeade station. 

"Draco, this is amazing," Hermione said in awe, carefully running fingers over various parts of the model. Most of the more difficult jobs were already painted; the animals, greenhouses, and train, as well as some of the landscaping, starting from the bottom.

"I'm going to put a music box in the bottom; it just came in yesterday afternoon. If you're worried about it not being finished by Saturday, I promise it will be. Painting isn't what takes the most effort," he said, smiling at her awe and words of praise. Hermione shook her head. 

"Oh, I'm not worried at all," she assured. "Did you make this all last night? You mustn't have slept at all." Draco chuckled. 

"Merlin, no. I've been working for about a month and a half. Slacked off a little toward the end, when I was sure I'd have enough time," he said, and to Hermione's lifted eyebrow he shrugged. "If we'd decided not to tell her, it would still make a fine present. She didn't necessarily need to know that any of this existed." 

"That's good," Hermione said with a sly smile. "Because some of it _doesn't_ exist. I don't recall there ever being a three headed dragon guarding the gates." Draco smirked. 

"Who's to say I can't have a little fun?" he asked in defense and Hermione smiled, leaning forward to kiss him. 

"Thank you, Drake. She'll love it. I know she will, because I do and she and I are one in the same. It almost makes me want to go back," Hermione said dreamily, waiting for the little train to exit the tunnel and smiling as it stopped in Hogsmeade. She sighed and pointed. "That was my compartment, right there." Draco smiled. 

"Really? I wish I'd have known. I would've painted you in the window," he prodded and Hermione laughed, kissing him again before tearing her attention from the masterpiece and focusing back on the depressing state of his bank account. Draco, oblivious and apathetic to the world surrounding galleons, repackaged his masterpiece and set it safely behind the counter, out of harm's way and in plain view of both himself and Hermione. 

Parcel safely tucked away, Draco took a seat on a stool beside Hermione; resting his head on a fist as he watched her mark down numbers and perform mathematical procedures he truthfully could not identify. Soon growing tired of the feeling of ignorance she unconsciously settled upon him, Draco sighed softly. 

"Hermione, what do you want for Christmas?" he asked innocently, marking a kiss on her shoulder. Hermione gave a snort-like sound of amusement.

"You can't afford to get me a Christmas present," she joked half-seriously, smirking over her shoulder at him. Draco mimicked her. 

"Don't worry about that. I'll find a way; I always do," he insisted, but Hermione shook her head and turned again to her figures. Draco slyly plucked the pencil from her moving hand. 

"Hey!" she called in surprise, but Draco held tight to his captive. "Do you want me to do this for you, or don't you?"

"Right now, I want you to tell me what you want." 

"I want my pencil back, thank you very much," Hermione said in a tone so like herself at thirteen that it made Draco laugh and grant her wishes. He waited patiently for her answer to his previous question, but she ignored him and shifted so that he could not try again to take her instrument without alerting her of it first. 

"Hermione," he whined and she sighed, running fingers into her hair. 

"I don't know, Draco," she admitted, sounding as if her desire and constitution were torn. "I want very much to say nothing and curse you if you ask again, but... it _is_ our first Christmas and I really would like _something_ to remember it by." She paused a moment, dropping her hand from her hair and chewing on the end of her pencil. "You know what? Make me something." Draco lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. 

"As in?" 

"Anything, as long as it doesn't take materials you need for something else and isn't too involved and time consuming. After all, time is money, isn't it?" she suggested wholesomely, offering a little smile. Draco gave a nod and kissed her quickly. 

"Agreed. If that's what you really want." 

"I do," Hermione said, finalizing the conversation. She paused for a moment, going back to her math as Draco watched her, but in the silence the nagging voice of a certain blonde freshman rang in her ears. She sighed, turning to him slowly, almost sadly. "What do you want?" Draco grinned. 

"I just want you," he said automatically, and cut Hermione off as she opened her mouth to protest. "I already told you; you can have as much time as you want. I don't care if my gift comes belated or never at all, it is what I want and nothing you say will change my mind." She slouched slightly, smiling, and Draco mocked her. "Besides, I thought you'd already gotten me something?" Hermione was reminded of his visit the previous night, and a sense of foreboding washed over her. Her countenance darkened and she looked suddenly troubled, turning her eyes to stare blankly at the table in front of her. Draco, by association, frowned as well. "Hermione?" 

"About that..." she said softly, referring to his gift, "I need to talk to you." Draco lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing as Hermione continued. "I... I'm just not sure if you're going to like it." Draco quickly broke into a touched smile. 

"Don't worry so much. I'm sure I'll love whatever it is you give me. It'll be from you, won't it?" he remarked cleverly and Hermione smiled softly. 

"I hope so," she said and allowed herself a calming breath. "This one will definitely be a bit belated. You helped me decide on it about three months ago, and I'll be expecting it to be delivered sometime in early June." Draco, now completely intrigued in his confusion, leaned closer, eager to hear more. Hermione set her pencil down and crossed her arms over her stomach, leaning forward self consciously. "It'll have ten fingers and ten toes, blond hair and brown eyes." She paused, turning to look up at him. "Or, maybe, brown hair and... eyes like stormy, twilight skies." There was an echoing pause and Hermione waited, gaze locked with Draco's, for any sign of reaction. His eyes moved quickly and calculatingly, studying her face. 

"Hermione," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper. "What are you saying?" She looked quickly away, neglecting to answer, but Draco reached forward and lifted her chin. "Hermione?" he asked, somewhat demandingly, and she shuddered. 

"I'm..." she started, then corrected herself, "We; we're going to have a baby, Draco." 

He stopped breathing. Hermione could feel the air between them grow slightly thicker without his added intake of breath and the knowledge was maddening. She broke into a dry sob, relieving the buildup of tension and leaving her with undiluted nervousness. 

"Before you say anything," she began hurriedly, speaking quickly and rocking slowly back and forth, arms still crossed over her midsection. "I want to keep this baby, so please don't ask me to... to get rid of it." 

"I wouldn't," Draco said, exhaling deeply, but Hermione shook her head. 

"I know that puts a lot of pressure on you and I'm sorry. I don't want you to feel obligated to be with me and accept this, because I know we didn't plan on it and it isn't something that's just going to go away. I can't make you do anything, Draco. I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. You don't have to take any responsibility, because I can do this on my own. I know I can, but I..." she paused, turning for the first time to look into his eyes. "I _want_ you with me." Draco stared, struck speechless, as Hermione beseeched him with her eyes. He knew her well enough to read through her words. _Please, Draco. Please don't leave me, _thought Hermione; always the one to take the fall, to admit her fault, to peddle safety in a carpet bag and sell it to villagers for equal its worth in pain. He drew her toward him, pulling her shoulders to his chest in a crushing embrace. 

"Hermione," he said, marking feather light kisses in her hair. "If this relationship is going to work, you're going to have to learn to trust me." Hermione sniffled, though she cried no tears, and turned to look up at him. 

"Do you mean it?" she asked, unable to believe. "You'll stay with me?" 

"Of course I will," he said, brushing her hair with his fingertips and allowing them to curl around her ear. "I love you." Hermione took a stuttering breath as dampness drew from her eyes. 

"You do?" she asked, fighting tears, and Draco laughed in spite of her, nodding. Hermione sobbed and moved her hands to hold his head as she kissed him, forcing Draco to brace himself for fear of falling off his stool. When they broke apart, Hermione rested her head below his chin, somewhat out of breath and exhausted from the exertion involved in the ordeal. "I love you, too," she whispered. "I love you too." 

-x- -x- -x-

"Oh, Draco, I'm so happy," Hermione sang, crawling toward where he sat on the carpeted floor of his apartment. Draco looked up with an inclined eyebrow. 

"Why? This is horrible. I bet it tasted good in 1965," he said, savagely jabbing the frozen-dinner Salisbury steak he had managed to find them for lunch, and watching with amusement as the fork held its own and remained upright. Hermione laughed softly and reclined on the floor beside him, arms folded behind her head as she stared at the highly vaulted ceiling. 

"I don't know why," she said, ignoring his comments about their meal (which she too had left nearly untouched). "I shouldn't be this happy. You're the only thing good in my life right now," she said, pausing to look up at him. "I suppose that might be reason enough?" Draco smiled and pushed his tray far out of their way, then rested himself on top of her so that his ear was pressing a mark above her navel. 

"I think there might be other things," he reminded, tracing lines over her curved sides with his fingertips. Hermione smile and moved a hand to lodge fingers in his hair. 

"But there're so many bad things," she said, sounding not sad, but rather disappointed. "Are you sure you're up to this, Drake? This is going to take a lot of money, and a lot of sacrifice." She felt his arms snake around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground as he held her in a demanding embrace. 

"Of course I am," he said, sounding almost offended. "I want you, Hermione. I want both of you. I'll give anything." Hermione sighed. 

"What about everything?" she asked softly and Draco kissed her stomach through the cotton of her t-shirt. 

"Everything," he assured. Hermione sat up, still frowning, and Draco was forced to do the same. He retained their embrace, however; holding her in his arms in a protective nature. 

"Draco," she said, closing her eyes tiredly and bowing her head. "I want you to fully realize what you're agreeing to do." 

"I'm not stupid, love," he said, kissing her forehead. "I know it'll be hard work, I've met a few toddlers in my time." Hermione shook her head. 

"I don't mean that. Draco, I've done the figures three times over. We simply _don't have enough money_ for a baby," she admitted plainly and sighed. "I can quit my job with Emory and find a city parlor, as much as I don't want to leave him, but that will mean more work as well as more money. I'd have to move closer; it isn't safe to apparate after the second trimester." Hermione paused and opened her eyes. "Even in the best case, that won't be enough. There will be a lot of hospital and prenatal expenses and I'll have to take maternity leave at some point." She allowed herself another sigh. "I told you I could do it alone, that I wouldn't need your help and not to worry about me... but I only said it so it wouldn't influence your decision. Draco, I _can't_ do this without you." 

"Hey," Draco said, allowing an arm to break free from their embrace and its corresponding hand to come quickly to her face, cradling her cheek as he marked a gentle kiss on her lips. "I told you I would do anything, didn't I?" Hermione gave a tiny smile. "I'll sell the shop," he concluded sternly and Hermione's face fell. "Don't look at me like that; I mean it. This building itself will catch a rather fancy sickle; maybe enough to get us a little place of our own, hm? Two bedrooms and a little backyard with a patio... and a garden, if you want one." She sighed, smiling softly, and dropped her head to rest on his shoulder. 

"You make everything sound so picturesque and simple." 

"It will be, you'll see," he assured her, lying backward to hold her weight above him. "I don't mean to be brazen, but I think myself to be a fairly accomplished man in my chosen field," Draco said and Hermione nodded against him in agreement. "If I am working _for_ someone and receiving a real paycheck every week it should help quite a bit. Depending on how much I'll actually earn, we could always ask my mother for help. She holds claim to all the Malfoy real estate and riches. When she dies, god forbid, all that will be passed down to me and we'll really have nothing to worry about. I don't believe in taking advantage of my lineage and neither does my mother; we shall ask only for what we truly _need_ and nothing more." 

"I wouldn't have it any other way. If it were up to me and not the fates, we wouldn't have to ask for anything at all." 

"We might not; it all depends on our luck in finding new jobs in the city. It could prove quite a feat," Draco said, sighing softly. "We just have to be optimistic," he decided. "Perhaps they'll think me undiscovered talent and I'll rise to assistant manager within weeks." Hermione laughed softly and Draco smiled. "Too much? All right; since we own no car and probably will not be able to afford one for quite some time, I could turn our garage into a smaller workshop and start making more and refinishing less." 

"Now that's a good idea," Hermione agreed, kissing his jawbone. 

"You think so?" 

"Do you really want to know what I think?" she asked him and Draco turned his head downward, eyebrows raised in intrigue. "I think you should start focusing on pieces like Marin's birthday present. It really is amazing, Draco, and perfect for the amount of space you'll have. If we play our cards right, they could fetch a handsome price as well." Draco, now deep in thought, rested his head against the carpet. Hermione smiled beside him. "That is, of course, once you finish making baby furniture. With a man of your talents as my baby's father, I'm not about to go buying anything that can be made."

"Baby," he repeated softly, a genuine smile molding his face. "I think I'm starting to get excited. June, you said? I don't know if I can wait until June." Hermione laughed. 

"Well, I imagine you'll have to, Draco, because I'm not about to give birth any sooner than humanly possible," Hermione said, but Draco was hardly paying attention. 

"We have to tell everyone; come, now," he said, rolling her carefully away from him and getting to his feet before assisting her in doing the same. Hermione laughed.

"Now?" she repeated and Draco nodded exaggeratedly. "Who shall we tell?" His brow crinkled in concentration.   
  


"Well, I imagine Faye should be the first..." he began, but Hermione lifted a finger. 

"She already knows," she said and Draco looked somewhat hurt.   
  
"You told _her_ before _me_?" he asked, frowning, and she laughed softly, kissing each of the corners of his mouth. 

"I'm sorry. I was scared; I needed to tell someone." 

"But I was _there_ last night." 

"But I didn't _know_ what you'd say. I know I should have more faith in you, Drake, but it's hard, on the spot, with such a drastic effect to come in the wake of your answer." She stepped forward and embraced him. "I've been burned before." 

"I know. I'm not angry," he said, returning her affection. "You can trust me, Hermione. I love you, I won't leave you. Especially not now, when we have so much planned." Suddenly, Hermione tensed and stepped away. 

"Draco, I don't want us to be together for the baby. I don't want us to be miserable and unhappy and sticking it through because we think we have to. That isn't fair to us, and it won't be fair to it either. I'd never force you away; even if _we_ weren't together, you're still my baby's father and I want you a part of its life no matter what," she said, and Draco shook his head, holding her face in his hands. 

"Don't you think on that for a second, Hermione. That is one thing that you really _don't_ have to worry about."

"I love you," she said, giving him half a smile, and Draco returned it ten fold. 

"Let's go tell my mother." 

-----------------------------------

*Note: I don't know what the symbol is for galleons (like $ for dollars) so I decided instead to just use a 'G'. An amount containing all three forms, as it does appear above, is written as such: Draco's profit for the month was "G12.6.27" :: 12 galleons, 6 sickles, 27 knuts. It should be read and pronounced as such, just like we as Americans would pronounce $5.25 as five dollars and 25 cents. I do it this way because there are 17 S in a G and 29K in an S. Percentages would be difficult.

...

A/N: Phew! Omg, I love this story. I bet you all hate it, don't you? Everyone is strange and out of character... ::sigh::. I love it. I'm sorry, but I really do. :oD


	9. The Trojan War

Theretofore on GG:

"You can trust me, Hermione. I love you, I won't leave you. Especially not now, when we have so much planned." Suddenly, Hermione tensed and stepped away.

"Draco, I don't want us to be together for the baby. I don't want us to be miserable and unhappy and sticking it through because we think we have to. That isn't fair to us, and it won't be fair to it either. I'd never force you away; even if _we_ weren't together, you're still my baby's father and I want you a part of its life no matter what," she said, and Draco shook his head, holding her face in his hands.

"Don't you think on that for a second, Hermione. That is one thing that you really _don't_ have to worry about."

"I love you," she said, giving him half a smile, and Draco returned it ten fold.

"Let's go tell my mother."

-----------------------------------

Chapter 9: The Trojan War

"Draco, isn't this a bit tactless?" Hermione asked as they appeared in front of a great stone edifice known to most as Malfoy Manor. "What if she's asleep? Or bathing? Or entertaining?" Draco laughed and tied his arm around her waist.

"She's my mother. She'll make time for _me_," he told her, marching up the path to the grand entry doors. Hermione bit her lip in anxious anticipation.

"She's going to hate me. Just _look_ at me! I _can't_ be your girlfriend, Draco. You're supposed to come home with some beautiful, rich, pureblooded, blonde girl with long legs and no waist and child-bearing hips... I'm what _not_ to bring, in a nutshell," she burst, fingers scrambling to smooth her hair as she agonized over its state. Draco groaned, impeding their progress by stopping to press his lips to her forehead.

"Please don't do this to me, Hermione," he begged, running his palms over her upper arms. "Trust me, my mother is _not_ expecting that. And, if she is, then she doesn't know me as well as one would hope, considering she _is_ my mother. She'll love you because _I_ love you. And, I promise, once she gets to know you, she'll love you for you as well. All right? No worries?" Hermione forced a smile and gave an unconvincing nod, attempting poorly to humor him. Draco smirked in amusement and kissed her pouty lips, then held his hand for her to take. She slipped shaky fingers into his palm and Draco squeezed them in assurance. Armed with excited confidence, he led the way to the front door, and proceeded to knock assertively.

Within minutes, the large door moved aside to reveal a tired-looking and very pale boy of fourteen with dark olive eyes and a mop of dishwater hair that fell flatly over his face. Hermione felt instant sympathy for the child and wondered fleetingly if the Malfoys used child labor as well as elfin. She looked up to Draco in surprise and saw him frown in sympathy as well.

"Hey, scout," he said, stepping forward and using the hand not clasped in Hermione's to ruffle the boy's thin blond hair. He smiled immediately at recognizing Draco, and Hermione felt her heart warm slightly at his happiness.

"Hey Draco," the boy said softly, as if he were too weak to speak at any higher a decibel. "What are you doing here?" he asked, stepping aside to allow them entry. Draco graciously took advantage of his gesture, pulling his girlfriend along with him and closing the heavy door before the younger blond felt need to exert himself to do so.

"I could ask the same of you, couldn't I? Shouldn't you be in school?" he asked him and the boy rolled his shoulders, deeply frowning.

"Mum's sick again. Bad this time," he said, eyes on the ground. "And I've got the horse again, so I can't go to school." Draco moved his hand to rest on his host's narrow shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Troy," he said sincerely, but was thanked with a slight shrug.

"Daddy's in Cambodia for two more months, so I'm staying here with Tia. Do you want me to go get her for you?"

"Not just yet, there's no rush," Draco said, shaking his head. "I want you to meet someone. Troy, this is my girlfriend Hermione. Manny; my cousin Troy." Troy turned his wide eyes to Hermione, as if surprised to see her standing there.

"You're _real_?" he asked in awe and Hermione couldn't contain her smile and amused giggle.

"Well, of course I am," she said cheerfully. Troy seemed startled that she truly possessed a voice. "What did you think I was?" He smiled crookedly and a very faint blush crept into his cheeks so that his skin, for a moment, mocked a healthy tone.

"Sometimes when I'm sick I hallucinate," he admitted, staring at his slipper-ed feet. "Professor Trelawney says they're godsend. Draco never brings girls home; I thought you were his angel." Hermione's heart melted instantly and she freed herself of Draco's grasp, bending to be at a more appropriate level with his tiny cousin.

"Well, haven't you your family's charm?" she asked him softly and held out a hand in greeting. "It's nice to have met you, Troy. I hope you feel better." He grinned and accepted her handshake, then turned to his cousin.

"I have to take my medicine, Draco. I was on my way to do it when you knocked on the door," he said and Draco's eyebrows rode high.

"Well, for hell's sake, boy; go," he instructed, guiding him toward the staircase with a soft shove. Troy smiled, shuffling toward his destination. Once he reached the first step, he turned back and waved.

"Bye, Hermione!"

It wasn't until he had journeyed half way up the exposed flight of stairs that Draco realized he would need his cousin's help.

"Troy, where's Mum?"

"Tia's..." Troy began, already struggling for breath. "Weeding." Draco frowned.

"Don't go _too_ fast. Do you need help?" he called, but the stubborn little blond shook his head and determinedly pressed on.

"I can... do it."

Draco and Hermione kept careful watch over Troy until he disappeared into the second floor corridor. Draco laughed softly, smirking, and turned to his houseguest.

"Sorry. I didn't know he'd be here," he said, but Hermione shook her head, linking her arm around his.

"That's perfectly all right. Anyone who compliments me like that is welcome to as many unexpected appearances as his heart may desire," she said, smiling and resting her cheek against his upper arm. After a moment of thought, Hermione frowned and tilted her chin slightly upward, looking concerned. "I don't mean to pry, but... what's wrong with him?" she asked gently, and Draco smirk fell slightly. He lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

"I don't know. No one knows. We call it 'the horse'; you know -- the Trojan horse invaded Troy. It softens it a bit for him," Draco said, sighing softly and turning to look up the stairs. "I think it's more psychological than anything. He only seems to have it whenever his mother is ill. _She_ has malaria. My uncle travels a lot, though I'm not sure what he actually does, and he's become as immune to tropical disease as any of the natives... but she isn't. My theory is that he gave it to her. The first time it was horrible. She never really got well. It seems to relapse and return every few months." There was a moment of revered silence and Hermione dared not break it. Draco turned to her with a genuine smile. "But enough about that. We've got our own family history to tell, haven't we?"

Hermione, remembering the baby and their chosen task at hand, felt her nervousness return and clutched his arm as if afraid he might pull away and leave her to fend for her own.

"To the garden?" he questioned and she sighed.

"Better sooner than never, I suppose."

-x- -x- -x-

A heavy thump echoed through the garden as Narcissa Malfoy dropped her entire box of gardening tools onto the cobblestone walkway.

"What do you _mean_ you aren't getting married?" she shouted in indignation, eyes aflame as she questioned her son. Draco, who stood in such a way as to place himself beside Hermione while at the same time slightly obscuring her, swallowed and attempted to compose a rebuttal.

"I didn't _say_ that, Mother," he defended and his mother's glare was replaced by one of equal strength from Hermione. "I said we haven't _talked_ about it." Inwardly, Draco groaned; his afterthought had only served to irk his mother further, and create a man vs. woman scenario in which he was outnumbered.

"So you plan to have _my_ grandbaby out of wedlock then, do you? Do you want me to be a laughing stock, Draco? Your own mother?"

"_Mum_," Draco groaned, sounding quite childlike. "No one _cares_ about that anymore."

"_I_ care, Draco. _I_ care. Don't _I_ count for anything?"

"Mrs. Malfoy..." Hermione interrupted, but she was shushed within moments.

"You shut your mouth, girl," Narcissa snapped. "You've no bearing on this conversation."

"Mother, please!" Draco scolded in surprise at his mother's tactlessness and she turned her fiery gaze again to him.

"How do you plan to _support_ this baby, Draco? That's why you've come to me, isn't it? Well, don't expect a _knut_ from me until you've done this girl proper."

"Surely you know me better than _that_, Mother. I came here to _tell_ you. Include you in my happiness. I was _excited_, I wanted you to be the first to know," he said, then stopped, shaking his head in disgust. "I thought you'd be happy for me. To my surprise, it seems that both my baby and its mother are unwelcome here. I must admit that I am very much disappointed in you."

"Don't you patronize me, boy. I am your mother, and _I_ know what's best for you!" Narcissa said, brandishing a small trowel, and stepped toward them. Draco positioned himself more completely in front of his conditioned girlfriend.

"Come, Hermione; I believe that is our cue to leave," he stated, turning to take light hold of her arm and pushing her toward the exit. Narcissa fumed.

"Yes, Draco. You leave, and don't you expect to come back without at the very least, a fiancée," she called after them, and Draco made haste to push Hermione through the garden doors and close them soundly behind him before attempting to confront his consort. When he turned however, it was only to see her storming down the path to the entry room, arms crossed and head bent to the ground.

"Hermione," he called, jogging after her, but she continued to walk unperturbed, remembering every turn which needed to be taken in order to reach the front doors. Draco reached her just as she breached the foyer's threshold. "Wait." She spun and backhanded him in the chest in frustration.

"_You_," she said, prodding the air preceding his nose with a rigid finger. "You told me she wouldn't _be_ like that! You told me she wouldn't hate me! You said... _you said_!"

"Hermione, it isn't you," he said, taking her upper arms in his hands. "Mother's just old fashioned. She doesn't want rumors spread about my having unprotected, promiscuous relations. She's paranoid, especially about the Malfoy image."

"She _hates_ me," Hermione insisted, feeling her eyes fill with tears as the emotional battle within her reached her nerves. Draco frowned, shaking his head determinedly.

"No. Everything was fine at first, remember? She was happy to be introduced. She was even happy about the baby. It was the _marriage_, or lack thereof, that threw her into a mood. She'll relax when we settle down and nothing makes the Prophet. I promise."

"Stop promising me things over which you have no control. You don't know _what_ your mother's going to do, you _don't_ know that things will end up all right, and you _don't_ know what's going to be written in the papers. Stop trying so hard to make me feel better. In retrospect, it never seems to work," Hermione demanded, ignoring the first tear to fall down her powdered cheek. Draco looked to the floor, keeping his frustration at the situation at bay, and sighed.

"All right. You're right. I'm sorry."

Hermione crossed her arms tightly at her chest and sniffled, kissing him softly in acceptance of his offered apology.

"I want to go home," she said softly, sounding like a small child. Draco looked up and gave a soft nod.

"All right. Your place or mine?"

"Mine, of course," Hermione answered monotonously, and Draco's lips fell into a deep frown of disappointment. She brightened the mood with a smile. "I've got to pack, haven't I?" Upon realization of her intention, Draco's face lit up in a grin and he laughed aloud, lifting her into the air and spinning once around. Hermione laughed in spite of herself and, upon landing, wiped the tears from her eyes. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You've made me very happy, Manny," he told her, moving to open the heavy doors, and held them there for her to pass into the sunshine. Hermione smiled at both his words and gesture.

"Let's hope it doesn't backfire, hm?" she teased and Draco offered her a crooked smile. Hermione swept outside without glance toward his pouty face and he followed her, grasping her hand as they walked slowly down the path.

"Wait!" called a meek voice from behind them, startling the couple into turning back. The entry doors opened to reveal a panting blond boy, still dressed in a nightshirt and slippers. He scrambled to the steps and fell hard into a sitting position.

"Troy," Draco said, sounding almost like a curse, and quickly made his way to his cousin, dropping to his knees before him. "Hey, scout," he said casually, smirking. "All right?" Troy took a moment to catch his breath, then nodded enthusiastically.

"Do you have to leave?" he asked, sounding devastated, and Draco found himself slightly frowning.

"I'm afraid so. Mum and I are having a bit of a disagreement. She doesn't want me here," Draco admitted and Troy heaved a sigh so heavy that he nearly toppled over.

"Okay," he said, tying his thin arms around his cousin's neck, and Draco returned the embrace wholeheartedly. "I wanted you to come," Troy said after a moment, still entrapped within his expression of goodbye. "I prayed, a little." Draco laughed, pulling from his thin, boney binds.

"Why didn't you owl me? You know I'd have come straight away," he said and Troy gave half a smile, shrugging embarrassedly.

"I didn't want to bother you."

Draco shook his head, smirking in amusement.

"I don't know about you, boy." He paused. "But I _do_ know that you aren't supposed to be outside. Go on, now." Troy rolled his eyes and nodded in reluctant agreement. He raised a small hand to Hermione, who had approached their conversation but remained merely a bystander.

"Bye Hermione. Don't be sad," he said, then stood and hurried toward the doors.

-x- -x- -x-

"Need help with anything?" Draco asked as he followed Hermione into her bedroom. She pulled her suitcase from below her bed with considerable effort and let it fall open on the mattress, then approached him and marked a kiss beside his lips.

"_That_ would be very much appreciated. Just start shrinking things. I'll sort through what I want later. I'm going to go find Faye's suitcase as well; I doubt she'll mind if I borrow it."

"Where is she, come to think?"

"I don't know, for sure," Hermione replied as she disappeared into a room across the hall and returned within seconds with a very pink, plastic suitcase. "Possibly in class, but I don't think so. Maybe at the housing office. She said she'd file a request this morning." Draco, deciding to start somewhere safer than her dresser, moved to the vanity, proceeding to shrink an array of cosmetics and fit them into a black box, then shrinking the box and moving to place it carefully in the less vibrant of duffels.

"She's all right with this?" he asked conversationally, sparing only a glance to Hermione, who had accepted the monumental task that was her armoire. She nodded amidst shrinking an entire drawer and dumping it haphazardly into Faye's borrowed pack.

"Once I told her about the baby, she pretty much made me promise to move out. Really, it will be much more inexpensive for her to move into student housing. This apartment was not the least pricey of the bunch. She's just not keen to living with strangers."

"How did you meet her?"

"She _did_ go to Hogwarts; about five years below us, but I met her at a convention. I'm alumni to her university; she wants to be a crime scene investigator," Hermione said, smirking to herself. "In the background, anyway. She's studying to work in the lab. Last Christmas, during her seventh year, they held a conference with my graduating class of mortuary scientists and the upcoming class of postmortem chemists. Like a 'what to expect' sort of program. She was my assigned freshman and, as it was a three week course of bonding activity, we became good friends. She brought up the prospect of rooming together when I complained about the dumpy apartment I had then resided in and I jumped on it," she explained, multitasking as to complete her packing adventure as quickly and completely as possible.

Draco nodded softly at her story and mused quietly to himself, immersed in the job of going through her things. After clearing the vanity top and each of the drawers, he looked up at the mirror and smiled at the familiar white and ivy card which was stuck beneath the rim. He moved to pluck it softly from its roots and place it carefully within the basket of accessories that he was holding, but another slip of paper caught his eye.

"Manny?" he asked softly.

"Hm?" Hermione asked, emptying her closet with a turn of her wrist.

"What's this?"

She turned to him, expecting only to spare a glance before recognizing the object, but the all too familiar, crumpled letter made her stop and slowly approach him.

"Oh," she said, but gave no inclination as to further explanation. Draco, now more curious than before, turned to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Well?"

"A letter," she said, hesitating slightly. "From an old boyfriend." Draco looked honestly surprised.

"You kept it? A love letter?" he asked, sounding interested rather than angry. Hermione laughed dryly.

"Hardly. A break-up letter, and a harsh one at that. It's kind of funny," she said, taking the parchment from his hands. "I thought I knew him. I really did and then... then it was like he became a different person. Not a good change, I'll give him that. I kept it so I'd remember that. Learn my lesson, so to speak." Her lips curled into a lopsided and somewhat sad smile and she sighed, looking up. "That was a long time ago," Hermione stated, then turned and dropped the letter into her waste basket before returning to her shrinking charms without another thought. Draco watched her silently for a moment, lost for words.

"You don't have to throw it away," he said. "If you want to keep it, I'm not about to stop you." Hermione spied him over her shoulder.

"I shouldn't need it now, should I?" she said teasingly, and Draco smiled.

"Suppose not."

Hermione pressed her suitcase closed with considerable effort, locking it and moving to assist Draco in filling her second.

"Enough about me," she said, sounding as if open to starting afresh. "Why did you never tell me about Troy? It seems you two have a close relationship."

"We do. He's my mother's half-brother's son. When my uncle, Silas Gallagher, goes exploring or hunting or whatever it is he does, my Aunt Caden and Troy often come to stay with my mother. I suppose because Caden hates to be alone. I've known Troy for, pretty much, his entire life. Really, I might even be considered a father-figure to him, though there's only about ten year's difference between us. Silas was never around and Lucius never had a lot of time for me, much less Troy. He's a good kid, he deserves better."

"He does seem like a sweet little boy," Hermione agreed. "But that doesn't explain why you've never told me about him. We're supposed to be open with each other. No secrets."

"Well, we've never really talked about our families, have we? I don't even know your parents' names," Draco countered, but nearly regretted it when a dark shadow shaded Hermione's face. "I..."

"My mother died," she said, interrupting him. "When I was 19. My father divorced her in my seventh year, and Mum tried _so hard_ to get enough money together so that I could go to university, that she just... snapped. It was too much for her; she had a stroke." Hermione sighed. "And pointlessly, too. I won a scholarship. Between that and the money she'd given her life to earn, I had enough to go to school, pay room and board, and live my four years there without a job to interfere with my studies."

"I'm sorry," Draco said, now wholeheartedly regretting his upbringing of the topic. Hermione, though somewhat saddened, seemed not to mind spilling her soul to him.

"It's all right. I don't feel guilty anymore. Now," she said, laughing softly. "Now I just blame my father. It doesn't really _matter_ how I think of him. I haven't seen him since he left her. I've no idea where he lives. I do know, however, that he's alive, as I've yet to see my inheritance and I'd have been notified were he to change his will." She snapped the suitcase shut. "Are we done?" Draco, putting on a small smile for her benefit, gave a nod.

"I think so. Unless you want furniture?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "It came with the apartment. And what do I need a bookshelf made of plywood and staples when I've got _you_ to handcraft me whatever I want?" she teased, lightening the mood, and he smirked.

"Oh, you think that, do you?" he questioned, trapping her in an embrace from behind, and Hermione laughed, turning her head to aid in an anticipated kiss. "I really do love you, Manny."

"Expect me to doubt it, do you?" she jeered, but nursed Draco's inclined eyebrow with a well placed kiss to his chin. "Let me write a note to Faye and we'll go and sort through my things."

"You say that as if I should be excited."

"Aren't you?" she taunted and he pretended to think.

"Mmm... no. Not particularly," he said and Hermione eyed him over her shoulder as she exited her bedroom.

"Shows what you know." Draco shook his head before following her, carrying with him a pair of mismatching suitcases.

-----------------------------------

A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long, but you have to realize. I'm _not_ dead. And I'm not _not_ updating. I have three running stories, not including my short story collection, and because it's finals season (and even before, when it wasn't) _and_ marching season, I've _very_ little time to write. So, if I manage to squeeze out ten pages (one chapter) a week, that means each story only is updated every three to four weeks. It's been about a month and a week since I updated this one, so I'm not far off schedule. I'm just so _tired_. Please note that that final scene was not filler-flirting. We had some _important_ things happen as well. If there was no reason to _do_ that scene, I wouldn't have _done _it. Thanks for reading, everyone.


	10. Her Brand New Skin

Theretofore on GG:

"...And what do I need a bookshelf made of plywood and staples when I've got _you_ to handcraft me whatever I want?" she teased, lightening the mood, and he smirked.

"Oh, you think that, do you?" he questioned, trapping her in an embrace from behind, and Hermione laughed, turning her head to aid in an anticipated kiss. "I really do love you, Manny."

"Expect me to doubt it, do you?" she jeered, but nursed Draco's inclined eyebrow with a well placed kiss to his chin. "Let me write a note to Faye and we'll go and sort through my things."...

-----------------------------------

Chapter 10: Her Brand New Skin

"Are your eyes closed?" Hermione asked, though she knew full well that Marin was completely obstructed to light and very grumpily so.

"_Yes_; I've a three inch blindfold plastered to my face, Manny. I can't see anything. Where are we going, anyway?"

"If we told you that, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?" Draco piped wittily, steering her through his little shop while Hermione walked behind them, closing doors and murdering lights. Marin huffed dispassionately, projecting her bottom lip in an incredibly ineffective puppy dog pout. "Now don't try that," Draco warned. "You'll see soon enough."

When the trio reached the top of the staircase, Draco released the younger of the girls and quickly opened the door, dragging her inside. Hermione followed cheerily, making sure to close the entrance behind her.

"Here, love," Hermione said, intercepting Marin from her boyfriend and directing her toward the plush toile couch in the living area. The darker girl sat and crossed her arms, looking impatient and anxious.

"Can I look now?" she asked and Hermione smiled as Draco came to stand beside her, lacing the fingers of his right hand around her corresponding hip.

"Yes, you can look," he answered, and Marin savagely ripped off her blindfold, blinking against the light and taking in all that was around her.

"Wicked..." she breathed to herself as her eyes graced the high, industrial ceiling. "Where am I?"

"My apartment," Draco quipped, having anticipated her question. Immediately, Marin turned to face her kidnappers.

"Really?" she asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He gave a defined nod.

"Indeed."

"And that's the surprise?"

"Well," Hermione said, smiling in amusement. "One of many." Draco smirked in agreement.

"What?" Marin asked, now completely confused. "Why? What's going on?" Unable to contain herself, Hermione broke free from Draco and sat beside their houseguest, wrapping her in a hug.

"Well..." the older woman repeated. "I know a certain someone who's turning fourteen."

"My birthday?" Marin asked, looking somewhat worried. "What did you plan, Manny?" Hermione's grin petered into a lopsided smile.

"Well, there's cake and presents in the kitchen... but there's a few more things we need to talk about, before all that," she said and Draco nodded his agreement as he sat on the opposite side of the lady of the hour. Hermione heaved a heavy sigh. "All right, first things first. I'm moving."

"Moving!" Marin exclaimed, sounding immediately devastated. She threw herself at Hermione. "No! You can't go!" Hermione laughed softly, sharing her embrace.

"Not like that, baby. I'm moving here, with Draco," she corrected amusedly and Marin looked up. "Faye's moving into student housing, so we'll have to have sessions here instead. That's one of the reasons I've brought you here." Marin sat up, stiffly.

"Oh," she mumbled, flushing in self-embarrassment. "That's all right, then..."

"Which," Draco interjected. "Brings us to the first gift." He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a black velvet sachet. Marin sighed.

"You guys..." she started, meaning to refuse their offerings, but Hermione laughed, interrupting her.

"Don't get too excited about this one, love," she warned, and Marin accepted the gift into her hands with curiosity.

"What is it?" she asked, feeling something hard and flat within the confines of the bag. Draco smirked.

"Open it," he suggested, and she did, slowly, extracting the simple silver key, laced on a linked chain.

"Erm... what is it?" she repeated, and Hermione laughed, wrapping her arms around the young girl's shoulders.

"It's a key," she stated illusively, as if revealing some secret. Marin looked up.

"A key to what?"

"Our front door," Draco provided, earning himself a sudden look from their guest. "This place isn't too far from home, love; we'll walk you back and show you the way. I want you to know that if you need a place to stay, for any reason, we're here for you, no questions asked." Marin stared for a moment, her eyes wide with astonishment, then turned to Hermione, who nodded her approval of Draco's suggestion. There was a silence before the younger girl could retain the coherent thought needed in order to breathe, and she broke down in a breath, latching on to Draco's neck while holding Hermione's arms closed tight to her. Hermione and her boyfriend smiled deviously at each other, sneaking a kiss beside Marin's ear. She held them wordlessly, her grip only lessoning as Draco pulled back. "Don't cry, love. You're supposed to be happy," he said in strive to cheer the girl, who was now staining her pretty face with overdue tears. Marin shook her head and sniffled, wiping at her eyes and draping the silver chain over her head.

"This is the best present I've ever gotten," she admitted, annoyance and chosen attitude waned in favor of emotional distress. Draco laughed aloud, attempting to lighten the mood.

"But it's not even the big one," he told her, aiding in drying her face by running dry thumbs along her salty cheeks. Marin shook her raven locks.

"I don't want anything else."

"Oh, but Draco's spent _so_ much time on it. At least take a look before you decide you don't _want_ it," Hermione teased, combing her long black tresses with polished fingertips. Marin sniffled and looked up at the only male in awe.

"You _made _it?" she asked, confused. "What _is_ it?" Draco and Hermione shard a look.

"I suppose we should skip right to that one?" he asked his girlfriend and Marin snapped her head to view Hermione in anticipation. She looked unsure.

"I don't know..." she started and Marin pleaded with her eyes, resolution disallowing her to verbalize her want. Hermione smiled softly. "All right. Marin, love; do you trust me?" The younger girl, overcome for a moment with joy, nodded determinedly. "This next thing I'm going to tell you is going to be a little bit hard to believe, but I want you to know that I'm sorry I haven't ever told you before. I hope you understand."

"What is it, Manny?" Marin asked, countenance fallen slightly in concern. Hermione gave a little sigh and Draco smiled his support.

"I'm a witch."

A thick silence filled the living area, and Marin blinked.

"_What_?" she asked finally, turning to Draco with a look as if to say _Is__ she crazy?_

"I'm a witch, love," Hermione repeated, laughing nervously. "You know..." she waved her hand. "Pointed hats, potions, black cats and broomsticks... a witch." Marin tilted her head.

"Manny, is this some sort of trick?" she asked, and Hermione sighed in exasperation.

"I'll prove it to you," she said, standing from the couch and leaving the room, only to return moments later with a long polished rod. "What do you want me to do?" Marin spared another look at Draco, but he remained neutral, shrugging his shoulders and looking intrigued. She turned back to Hermione, who stood impatiently, twirling her wand.

"You mean, like... magic?" she asked, and Hermione nodded. "Erm... turn me into something."

"What? Marin, I'm not going to hex you. Something that _isn't_ life threatening, please," she said, rolling her eyes. Marin looked decidedly skeptical.

"Turn that table into something else, then," she instructed, pointing across the room. Draco looked panicky.

"Be careful; I _refuse_ to spend _another_ fifteen hours making a duplicate," he interjected, and Hermione smirked.

"Drake, don't you trust me?" she asked playfully and he gave her a warning glance. Hermione rolled her eyes. "What should I turn it into?"

"Erm... a pony?" Marin suggested sarcastically and Hermione thought on it for a moment before shrugging her shoulders.

"All right, but a small one," she said, followed by a few choice Latin words. In a cloud of sparks, a small black pony appeared in the middle of Draco's living room, whinnying and wagging its tail. Marin, who had been expecting a bluff of some kind, looked suddenly scared.

"How did you do that?" she demanded, sounding more frightened than intrigued.

"Marin, honey..."

"They'd have _hanged_ you a hundred years ago for that... how did you do it? Smoke? Holograms? What...?"

"Magic, I'm afraid," Draco said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Marin, you don't have to be afraid. We're the same as we've always been... we love you, we aren't going to hurt you."

"You mean... you- you're a witch too?" she asked shakily and Draco laughed.

"Wizard would be the correct term, love."

Marin jumped up off the couch and began backing toward a wall, leaning against it only to fall as the curtain gave way. Draco stood up in a moment to help her, as did Hermione come to aid after re-transfiguring the little colt.

"No! Stay away from me! You can't keep me here, I... I want to go home," Marin wailed, throwing her hand in front of her to stop them. Hermione slowly backed away, tears forming in her eyes, and dropped her wand before running around a curtained corner and into another room. Draco, who had turned to watch her go, sighed and brought his eyes back to Marin.

"All right... if that's what you want, I'll take you home. But I really wish you'd consider..."

"No! Don't come near me!"

"All right- _all right_. Now listen to me, because you'll never find your own way otherwise. Can you find your way home from Four Crossings?" he asked and she nodded hesitantly. "Good. If you follow the doorways in the curtains that way," he said, pointing. "You'll find the door. Go down stairs, into the store room and out the front door. Turn left, and continue straight until you get to a big, stone building with a tall bell tower on the top... it almost looks like a church. Turn left again, following the street beside it until you get to a shop called _Jimmi Japs_, which will be next to a store called _Hidler_. Follow the alley between them and you should come out between some shops on Four Crossings Street. If you ever want to come back, love... all you have to do is go the same way. There'll be a wall blocking the alley, but you can walk right through it now that you know what's on the other side. I'm sorry we've scared you, Marin. I hope you know we'd never do anything to hurt you."

By the time Draco had finished his directions, Hermione stifled sobbing was very audible through the drapery walls. He sighed, turning away from her and maneuvering into the bedroom to comfort his girlfriend. Marin, left sprawled on the floor, lifted herself from the ground and made to leave, but paused at Hermione's unbridled wail. Conscience eating at her, she tiptoed quietly around the corner, trailing her friends, and peered into the little room with a bed, where Hermione sat sobbing in Draco's arms while he muttered something about not getting so worked up. With a shutter, Marin turned and ran, out the door, through both rooms, and into the cold, midevening air.

-x- -x- -x-

Hermione woke at an ungodly hour, startled from a dream that was immediately forgotten and groaning at the familiar feeling of nausea and bitter taste of bile that greeted her each morning. She rose from bed slowly, cautious of her condition and afraid to move too quickly for fear of provoking her stomach to protest.

Donning a light robe and slippers, Hermione shuffled out of the bedroom and made a direct beeline to the bathroom, where she promptly allowed herself to vomit dryly. She had planned to reserve dinner until after Marin's party and, because the events had gone so terribly array, had forgone it all together, favoring to cry herself to sleep against Draco's chest. She blamed her pregnancy for making her so overly emotional, as even an event so heartbreaking would normally do little more than make her lose her appetite and strength to be outwardly happy.

After her throat had contracted itself raw, Hermione allowed her fatigue to take over and rested. It was unknown to her how long she had sat there, face pressed against the porcelain seat of the toilet bowl. She woke again, to the putrid scents of urine and the cube of potent bleach that stained the water blue. With a groan, Hermione slowly hoisted herself up and shuffled to the kitchen in a daze, mind set on retrieving a glass of water to cool her scorched throat.

Contented, and with a large, liquidly cargo for her trouble, Hermione slowly made her way again toward the bedroom, sipping her water and wanting nothing more than to fall again between the sheets with Draco.

As she passed the living room, Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. The sound of shattered glass echoed through the highly vaulted rafters.

"_Draco!_" Hermione yelled and Draco could be heard scrambling out of bed, making grunts of frustration and surprise as he tripped over the sheets and fell squarely on his bottom.

"Hermione?" he called out to her as he stood, leaping over random shoes and wadded clothing before bursting directly through the curtain walls to find her. He reached the opening in the curtains just as Hermione dashed into the living room. "What's wrong? Are you- _dammit_," he cursed, fighting with the curtain as he tried to force his way into the room.

Hermione crossed the room and knelt before the couch, reaching out to shake the shoulders of the tiny raven-haired girl that lay there, wrapped in her tattered coat and clutching the chain strung key around her neck.

"Marin? Honey... wake up," she said softly, fighting against tears of happiness at seeing the girl again in her home. Marin sat up slowly, blinking her eyes open just as Draco made it into the room.

"Manny?" she asked feebly and Hermione broke down in her happiness, drawing the girl's head to her chest for a warm embrace. Marin gave a startled scream and pushed her mentor away, covering her ears with her hands as if unwilling to hear any words said. Hermione drew away slowly and Draco approached with caution.

"But, Marin... I thought..."

"Manny, it hurts," Marin sobbed, her tear streaked face hidden in the shadows of the early morning. Hermione was surprised.

"What? Let me see," she said, and Marin slowly drew her hands from her ears, curling them into fists as she bit her lips against the pain. Hermione carefully tucked the girl's long hair behind her ears, withdrawing at the gasp which escaped her lips. Unable to see much in the feeble light, Hermione sighed in frustration. "Draco, where's my wand?" Marin made no reaction to the request except to suck the droplet of blood which had escaped the chasm in her lip formed by her teeth.

"Here," Draco said, retrieving Hermione's wand from where it lay in the center of the room and surrendering it to her before bending his knees to kneel beside her. She thanked him quietly and sent a spell to the overhead lamps so that the maze of rooms was bathed in artificial light. Both adults gasped at the sight before them. Marin wore a face of admirable courage considering the amount of pain she must have suffered just from the injuries subjected to her face. She sported one inflamed eye, a long cut across her forehead and a split upper lip to compliment the hole she was biting into the lower. The grotesque masterpiece was accented by her ears, which were inflamed and covered with pussy pustules and blisters filled with a greenish fluid.

"My god," Hermione uttered as another wave of tears ran down the teenager's face, punctuated with little, restrained sobs. "Listen to me, love," she started softly, covering Marin's fists with her hands. "I can help you, but the only way I know how is with magic. Now, I won't do it if you don't want me to. We can go to the emergency room and..."

"No!" Marin burst, squeezing her fists more tightly. "Not the hospital, please..."

"All right, baby, all right," Hermione said, raising her wand. "Are you sure?" Marin nodded to the best of her ability, and Hermione said a spell to take a photograph of her injuries before she began to delicately direct charms to correct all the distortions of the girl's face. The burning sensation dulled in her ears until the pain stopped completely, and her tight grip relaxed. "There; feel better?" Hermione asked, setting her wand delicately on the floor beside the photograph. Marin, looking better and much more relaxed, fell into her embrace.

"Thank you," she whispered and Hermione shushed it away, holding her closely. Draco approached the situation, placing a warm hand gently on her back, and Marin gasped and shied away. He withdrew immediately, looking to Hermione for assistance. She looked concerned, and gently pushed the girl back.

"Marin, where else does it hurt?" she asked, and Marin took a breath to speak, but cut herself off, her eyes trailing to Draco. Sensing the theme of the conversation to follow, Draco smiled shyly.

"How about some ice cream, hm?" he asked, brushing a finger beneath her chin. "We bought your favorite." Marin smiled her thanks and Draco made his exit, walking toward the kitchen while scratching the back of his head in a tired daze. Hermione began to approach conversation with Marin, but her eyes suddenly shone with remembrance and she looked up in alarm.

"Draco! Watch out-"

"_Ow!_" Draco called out as he stepped on a shard of Hermione's broken glass, followed by an "I'm all right!", which made Marin laugh. Her smile fell again at the look on her mentor's face as the mood in the room dimmed to its previous low.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, her voice deathly quiet, and Marin turned her eyes to the carpet as tears blurred her vision.

"When I left, I... I didn't go home. I went the way Draco told me... to get to Four Crossings... and then I wandered a bit. To clear my head, you know?" Hermione nodded, smoothing the girl's frizzled hair. "I fell asleep on a park bench and when I woke up it was pitch black, so I went home as quickly as I could and... and..."

"It's okay, baby," Hermione encouraged, moving to sit beside her on the couch. Marin gratefully accepted the proffered embrace and rested herself against Hermione's comforting chest.

"My father was waiting. He was angry... my mother had just told him she was pregnant, and it isn't his. They haven't... in over a year, even I know that. So... he was angry, and... I was late..." she spilled, words flowing as quickly as her tears. Hermione squeezed her close and kissed the top of her head.

"What did he do, Marin. You have to tell me everything."

"He... he... he said, 'If I'm not good enough for your mother, then I'll... then I'll have to settle for you' and he..."

"Baby, I know this is hard, but it's very important. Did your father rape you?" Hermione asked and Marin dissolved into tears, nodding her head into her matron's chest. Hermione waited a moment, frowning, as Marin composed herself. "Honey, did he use a condom?" She paused a moment, as if thinking, and shook her head. Hermione sighed. "Did he ejaculate?" Marin sobbed.

"I don't know... I can't remember anything, I..." she rambled hysterically and Hermione shushed her, holding her close.

"Where was your mother when all this was going on?" she asked, if for no other reason than to stray slightly from the conversation and calm the frantic teenager.

"She was cleaning the blood from the kitchen floor..." Marin said, sniffling. "She was passed out there when I left."

"Can you tell me everything that happened, love? From the moment you got home? You don't have to go into too much detail, just..."

"He was in the living room. They both were. Mum was knitting, I think, and drinking something... and he yelled, first. Just yelled. I tried to explain, but he wouldn't listen and he took me into the kitchen... and cut me with a... a vegetable peeler," she said, sniffling and laughing at the quirk. "I think it was the only thing he could find. And he beat me, and burned my ears on the stove." Marin paused. "I don't remember how we got upstairs, but..."

"How did you get away?"

"After he... _touched_ me, he fell asleep. Or passed out; something... I had to wait for hours in the bed. I was so scared, Manny. I thought he'd wake up and... and I'd be the one sleeping next," Marin admitted, and Hermione gasped at her crude reference. "I snuck out when I was sure it was safe... I didn't have anywhere else to come, I..."

"I'm glad you came to me, baby. I love you. I love you so much; they don't deserve you. I'm going to fix this, Marin, I promise you. He'll never be able to touch you again," she said, holding her close, and Marin remained silent for a while, relaxed in Hermione's loving embrace.

"Manny," she said after a while, pulling back to sit upright. "I have... more." Slowly, and with shaking fingers, Marin peeled the jacket from her shoulders to reveal crudely bandaged arms, wrapped in what looked like bloody pillow cases. With careful ease, she unraveled the makeshift gauze, biting the already raw spot in her lip, and anticipated Hermione's gasp at what she saw. The tops of both arms were flayed; the skin peeled in centimeter wide strips, like large and mucus laden vegetables. Hermione healed them in a daze, watching with wonder equal to that of the blue eyed victim as the little lines disappeared like make-up. "Wow..." Immediately, Hermione attacked the bottom hem of Marin's shirt with her fingertips, lifting it over the girl's head to view the thin, pale body below. Marin was incredibly surprised. "Manny, what are you _doing_?"

"I have to check you over, baby... I can't do that with your clothes on."

"But what about..."

"He won't come back until I call for him, I promise," Hermione said and healed the visible bruises and contusions on Marin's torso, back, and stomach. "Does it hurt anywhere, specifically?" Marin looked hesitant, but brought a shaky hand to rest over the triangle between her legs.

"Here," she said, voice soft and nervous. Hermione frowned deeply and nodded.

"Yes, love. I'm afraid that's to be expected. I know a charm that should help, but before that... Marin, there are a few others that, if you'll let me, I'd like to perform," she said, approaching the topic gingerly. Marin looked nervous.

"What do they do?"

"They... Well, they're to make sure there are no repercussions for what your father did. Do you understand?" she asked and the girl nodded, staring in awe.

"There's... spells? For that?" she asked and Hermione nodded.

"They're quite complicated and most of the time people don't bother, but in this case..." she began and Marin nodded her approval. "All right; lay back..."

After all contraceptive and pain reliving charms had been successfully placed, Hermione summoned some more comfortable sleeping attire from her room and magically dressed Marin, who was falling asleep in her seat. She set her up on the couch with an array of pillows and the most comfortable blanket she could find before calling for her boyfriend, who came bearing gifts of coffee ice cream. As a thank you, both for the understanding and sustenance, Marin placed a warm kiss on his cheek, and settled into the cushions to bask in the simple pleasures of comfort. Hermione kept her seat on the couch as she carefully ate her dessert, and Draco perched himself on the arm beside her, poking at his confection with distaste. There was much silence and little conversation in the quarter hour it took for Marin to eat her ice cream, recover from her brain freeze, and fall to the edge of consciousness.

"I'm so tired," she mumbled, face pressed against the cushion. Hermione stroked her arm, smiling softly.

"You've been through a lot, love, and the charms tend to do that to you if you aren't used to them. You just sleep; you're safe here," she prattled gently, and Marin smiled.

"I love you guys," she said as she fluttered into sleep and Hermione sighed heavily, feeling as if something had been lifted from her shoulders. She stood from the couch and took Draco's hand, directing him over the glass-free floor and into the kitchen where their half empty bowls made their way back into the freezer, spoon and all. Hermione explained to her best ability exactly what had happened to Marin, and what she had found as evidence on her body. Draco's eyes burned with a rage she recognized from another man that she had known a very long time ago; one with an upturned nose and all the makings of an upper-class, blond, English snob.

When Hermione's explanations ended and Draco had calmed himself to a dull roar, it was decided that Draco would take the couch for the evening and Hermione would watch over Marin in their bedroom. He had made the observation that she wouldn't like waking up alone, and Hermione agreed with added opinion that waking up beside a man might not be the best for her fragile psyche either, and they had compromised. Draco carried Marin into the bedroom and tucked her between the sheets, kissing her forehead softly, then came to Hermione in the doorway and kissed her lips with a declaration that something would have to be done in the morning. She agreed and embraced him with advice not to work himself into insomnia before leaving to crawl into bed beside her unorthodox little sister. Once the dust had settled and silence had blanketed the little flat, Hermione pressed the bridge of her nose to the back of Marin's head, and silently sobbed for the lack of her innocence, wetting her hair and the pillow beyond.

-----------------------------------

A/N: I'm sorry, you guys, for the wait and everything. I've been so damned busy, and I can't even sleep when I want to. It's insane. Bear with me, please.


	11. Family Circle

Theretofore on GG:

Draco carried Marin into the bedroom and tucked her between the sheets, kissing her forehead softly, then came to Hermione in the doorway and kissed her lips with a declaration that something would have to be done in the morning. She agreed and embraced him with advice not to work himself into insomnia before leaving to crawl into bed beside her unorthodox little sister. Once the dust had settled and silence had blanketed the little flat, Hermione pressed the bridge of her nose to the back of Marin's head, and silently sobbed for the lack of her innocence, wetting her hair and the pillow beyond.

-----------------------------------

Chapter 11: Family Circle

Marin woke up late, wrapped tightly in a pair of fragile arms, and sighed with assumption that it was her mother, passed out from drinking and in no fit state to know to whom she clung. Blinking her eyes against the sun, she was startled to register the angelic and flawless face of her surrogate big sister, twisted in a frown of worry as she slept.

The memories came back in a flush and she shuttered, which in turn woke Hermione, who hadn't slept so fitfully. Her eyebrows drew in and she forced a smile for the benfit of her fragile-stated bedmate.

"Hey," she said softly, moving to press a kiss to Marin's forehead. "How are you feeling?" The younger girl lifted a shoulder in response, and Hermione frowned. Noticing the emotion associated with her apathetic demeanor, Marin quirked her lips and shifted.

"I'm all right," she insisted, snuggling closer the body beside her. "Your bed is _really_ comfortable." Hermione laughed and squeezed her in a hug.

"Draco made it," she said conversationally, propping her chin on Marin's crown. "I think he might have made everything _in_ here."

"And here I thought he had a life," Marin joked, covering her head with the plush duvet that, no doubt, Draco had made.

"There's a difference between 'having no life', as you call it, and dedication to your work," Hermione disagreed, allowing the girl freedom of her embrace for favor of roaming around under the covers.

"And what exactly is the line of difference between the two?" Marin asked, a lump of bones beneath the quilted bedcover. Hermione laughed and launched herself at the girl with curled fingers, insinuating a tickling war to which she had the advantage of eyesight. "Stop! Stop it!" Marin called, though obviously enjoying her torture, and Hermione complied, leaning back against the pillows and stretching out.

"What are you doing under there, anyway?" she asked just as an ebony head birthed from below the duvet. Marin grinned.

"Looking for buried treasure," she answered crisply, chin raised toward the ceiling. Hermione smiled, folding her hands behind her head.

"And did you find it?" she asked as though she highly doubted the existence of any treasure beneath her bedcovers. Marin's wide grin transformed into a brilliant smirk.

"Yes, I did!" she answered pointedly and held up a small golden key affixed to a neck chain. Hermione's unconscious smile fell and, in effect, Marin's followed suit. "What?" she asked, playful demeanor dissipated. Hermione quickly shook her head and affixed a prosthetic smile on her lips.

"Nothing. I just... didn't expect you to be so perky this early in the morning."

Marin, who seemed to read her mentor's warning loud and clear, crawled toward Hermione and embraced her around the stomach.

"Don't worry about me, Manny," she said, then pushed herself up. "Besides, it's not early; it's almost eleven."

"Oh," Hermione said, turning to validate Marin's information with the little digital clock on the bedside. "Well in that case, we'd better get up. Draco's probably pacing around, wearing holes in all my carpets," she joked, brightening with the smile on her mentee's face. "What do you want to do today?" Marin looked suddenly confused.

"What do you mean? Aren't we going to social services or something like that?"

"Well, yes- eventually... but it doesn't have to be today. We'll go tomorrow. Today we'll have fun; just the three of us," Hermione said, then paused for a moment before continuing. "Or just us girls, if you'd like. Oh, or just you and Draco. Hm... perhaps Draco and _I_ will go out and leave you here to beat the drapes, hm?" Marin laughed and fell into a reclining position beside her matron, propping her head on the heel of her hand.

"Do you think..." she started, but trailed off until urged by Hermione to continue. "Do you think we could finish my birthday party? I'm sorry for what happened, Manny. I should have trusted you." She sighed. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"Oh, don't you even think on that, baby," Hermione insisted. " I don't blame you for the way you reacted. You know, when my parents found out, they did practically the same thing." Marin's eyebrows drew in confusion.

"Your parents aren't witches too?" she asked and Hermione shook her head.

"They're about as magical as a unicorn's appendix," she said with a laugh, but at Marin's look of confusion continued. "... Which isn't very magical at all. Only part of a unicorn that _doesn't_ have any purpose or properties. Draco and I went to school together... they send your acceptance letter by owl and, well, when the first one came, my parents thought it was some sort of joke. They let me read it, but told me they weren't chasing a non-existent train to a place named after 'oily growths on livestock'." She smiled. "The school was called Hogwarts. Still is, actually; has been for hundreds of years. After about five or six owls came with the same message, they told me I could go, as long as there was indeed a train. And there was, as there would be for each of the next six years. That's where my reunion was a few months ago, remember? That's where I met Draco."

"At the reunion?" Marin asked and Hermione nodded. "Didn't you know him before that? I thought that you went to school together."

"We did; we were in the same year, too... but Draco was a lot different back then. We never really got along; actually, we hardly talked at all."

"Hm," Marin hummed, taking in the account of Hermione's childhood. After a moment's pause, she spoke again. "Hermione, can I ask you something?"

"Anything; what's on your mind?" Hermione asked and Marin's eyes flickered toward the doorway before she leaned in closely to whisper.

"What did Draco make me?" she pleaded and Hermione's face twisted into a grin.

"Oh, you'll just have to wait and see. Why don't we go get some breakfast, and _then_ we'll see about presents, hm?" she suggested and Marin smirked.

"Can I have cake and ice cream?"

"For breakfast?" Hermione asked, pretending quite convincingly to be surprised. Marin nodded and jutted her bottom lip in measure of plead. Her mentor sighed. "Of course you can." A grin marred the face of the younger girl, and she rolled over and off the side of the bed before dashing into the living room and sitting directly on Draco, who was still dozing on the couch. He woke abruptly, letting out an 'oaf!' of surprise.

"Well, good morning to you too," Draco mumbled in false annoyance. "What do you know; I finally get to sleep and someone _jumps_ on me." Marin laughed, then made a face of false sympathy.

"Aw... what kept you up, Drakie?" she teased, squeezing his cheeks into a fish-like countenance. Draco smiled through her torment.

"Well, how do you expect a bloke to get some rest with you girls _snoring_ like an air raid alarm?" he asked and Marin looked appalled.

"I do not snore," she assured him, releasing his cheeks so that Draco could smirk at her, then sliding off his chest and on to the floor. "Get up," she instructed and he laughed.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to make me breakfast," Marin stated and Draco lifted an eyebrow.

"Me? Cook? Are you sure you want _me_?" he asked and she grinned in validation. Draco sighed. "All right; the things I do for you women," he grumbled, getting to his feet. "What do you want?"

After a great laugh at the task Marin had laid out for him, the unorthodox family of three feasted upon cake that was slightly dry from a night on the counter, but all the same a good twist on breakfast. When her sugar levels had reached their absolute peak, Marin pushed her plate away and looked expectantly up at her keepers. Draco looked confused, but Hermione rolled her eyes and stood to retrieve the set of packages that were hidden in an under-counter cabinet. Dawning shone on Draco's face and he nodded, clearing the dishes to make way for violent unwrapping.

"So..." Hermione started, fingering the packages as if the paper interested her. "Where were we?" She tapped her chin. "Let me see... oh, yes! I remember. Draco, are you ready?"

"Indeed," he agreed, coming back to his seat after setting his load down beside the sink.

"All right. Marin, we told you about our magic because we love you and we didn't want to keep anything from you. And, we wanted you to remember this, so Draco's made you a tribute."

"A tribute? What do you mean?" she asked, listening intently and putting the thought of gifts out of her mind for a small span of time.

"Why don't you open it and see for yourself?" Draco suggested, and Hermione placed the larger of the two packages on the table. Immediately, Marin took her given advice and tore the paper from its packing before lifting the lid and peering inside.

"Wow..." she whispered in awe and Draco jumped up to assist her, lifting the masterpiece from its enclosure. Marin fell back into her seat, mouth slightly open and eyes fixated.

"Remember, I told you about Hogwarts?" Hermione began, sharing a smile with her boyfriend. "Well, this is it." Marin stared while Hermione pointed out the smaller attributes, like the greenhouses and train, and explained that there was no such thing as a three headed dragon anywhere near the school.

"You... you _made_ this?" she asked after her mentor had finished teaching. Draco, surprised to be addressed, gave a slight nod. "How long did it take you?"

"Almost a month. I just put the music box in yesterday," he said, then took a step forward to turn the tree that acted as a crank. The traditional Hogwarts Choral rendition of **_Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble_** began immediately with its one octave tinkering rhythm. Marin stood up and embraced him around the neck, displaying her thanks rather than speaking it. He laughed softly as she pulled away. "You're welcome."

"Oh, here," Hermione said, sliding the final present in front of the birthday girl. "It almost seems silly now." Marin smiled, taking her seat again.

"What's the story behind this one?" she asked, and both adults shared a look of surprise.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, and she shook a shoulder, shaking the small, slim box and trying to determine what was inside.

"Well, first you told be you were moving here, then you gave me a key. Then you told me you were a witch before giving me... this," she said, fingering the dragon guarding the Hogwarts gateway. "What about this one?" Draco smiled.

"Observant, as always."

"Why don't you open it first, and then I'll tell you," Hermione suggested, smiling as Draco made his way around Marin and moved to stand behind her. The teenager eyed them suspiciously and slowly opened the thin box. Inside was a beautiful silver frame of about six centimeters in length, strung on a black velvet ribbon that was just long enough to fasten around her neck. Inside the frame was a dark picture, and Marin looked up in confusion.

"What is it?" she asked, turning the picture to the side, as if hoping it were tilted. Hermione smiled, and Draco gripped her shoulders gently.

"It's an ultrasound," she answered easily. "A baby in utero." Marin blanched.

"... who?"

"Well," Draco began. "We haven't really decided on a name yet." If there were ever a time when Marin Colf fell speechless, it was that Sunday afternoon.

"You mean?"

"We're expecting a new addition sometime in June," Hermione agreed, summing up the idea at which they had been hinting for quite some time. Marin took a moment to regain herself before squealing and standing up.

"A baby? Oh, that's _awesome_. Can I be a bridesmaid? When are you planning to get married, anyway? Can I see your ring?" she rambled, glancing frequently between the little silver frame and the adults that had gifted it to her. Hermione and Draco frowned, sharing a look and Hermione sighed.

"Actually... we aren't getting married," she admitted, turning back to the ecstatic girl jumping around her kitchen. Marin stopped abruptly and turned to face them.

"You aren't?" she repeated, surprised. "Why not?"

"Well, we just don't think it's the right time for something like that," Draco said, trying to explain it in a way that would sound logical. "That, and we've hardly the funding. Though, admittedly, my mother would be happy to pay for everything." Hermione glanced at him in warning and he gave a lopsided smile in apology.

"Oh," Marin piped shortly. "Well, all right then." She paused a moment before squealing again. "I feel like I'm going to have a baby sister!" Draco and Hermione regained their happy smiles, laughing at the girl who brought so much to the table; literally.

"I hoped you'd feel that way, baby," Hermione said, standing from her chair and accepting an embrace from the younger girl. "Now, you keep that picture and I'll give you an update whenever I can, all right?" Marin nodded enthusiastically, bringing the ribbon to her neck and fixing the clasp.

"This has been the best birthday I've ever had. Oh, I can't believe you're going to have a baby!"

There was a loud clunk from just outside the kitchen and all three occupants jumped in alarm, spinning to view the doorway.

"Troy! For god's sake; you scared us to death!" Draco said, moving toward his open-mouthed cousin while Hermione took care to hold Marin from behind. He hugged the smaller blond, ignoring the look received from the butler whom had escorted him. "What are you doing here? What happened? Is everything all right, I... Troy?" Unprovoked by his cousin's hysterics, Troy kept his eyes glued to Hermione, who hid behind her mentee.

"You're _pregnant_?" he managed to force out, shaking the surprise from his head. With a sigh, he picked up his dropped luggage. "No wonder Tia was so upset. I thought it was just because you were muggleborn." Draco took the bag from him and set it back on the floor.

"Troy, what's going on?" he asked, less frantic now and more demanding. Troy dropped slowly to sit on the floor, staring silently at the carpeting.

"Mr. Malfoy," piped the butler and his head snapped up to look at him. "It is my most dreadful task as to inform you that the mistress Gallagher has taken a fatal turn in her illness and did pass away late yesterday evening." Draco paled.

"Aunt Caden? Oh, scout, I'm so sorry," he said, turning back to Troy, who shook his head.

"It's okay, Draco," he assured, smiling as best he could. "The horse is gone now." Draco sighed.

"You know what, Troy," he said, picking up the frail young boy and setting him rightly on his feet. "Come here... Troy, this is Marin. She's a good friend of Hermione's." Marin lifted her hand mutely and waggled her fingers at him. "She's turning fourteen tomorrow, and we were just celebrating her birthday. Why don't you go have some cake?" Troy, attracted to the prospect of meeting a very-much-muggle girl of his own age, agreed hastily and approached the two women who stood mutely together. Hermione snapped into action and got him a plate and a seat. Once they were comfortably chatting, Draco dragged the butler out of earshot for conversation.

"Wigsby, _what_ is going on? Why have you brought him here?"

"He requested it, sir," he said, sounding surprised that he hadn't already been informed. "The mistress Malfoy was quite distraught after your visit and, now grieving, decided she could no longer look after the boy. She asked me to take the young master home to The Gallagher Estate in Scotland, but the master Gallagher has decided to take extra leave and would not be available for care until well into next year. The young master preferred to be looked after by kin rather than nursemaids and the mistress Malfoy agreed that it would be good for him to stay with you. Claimed it to be good "practice" for you, sir, Merlin bald if I know what she meant by that." Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Wigsby you _know_ I'd love to let him stay here, but I'm not... qualified. I've got a girlfriend and a baby on the way- I can't _afford_ to look after him. Have you seen my shop? _Full_ of _junk_! I haven't had business all day! With the exception of Mrs. Crichton, who hardly qualifies as _business_..."

"It's all been taken care of, sir. The master Gallagher has agreed to this transaction and will provide full financial care for the boy as long as you have him. He entrusted me to give this to you, sir," Wigsby said, reaching into his pocket and producing a coin-like token embossed with the Gallagher crest. "Any purchase in his interest may be charged on this coin, sir; to the Gallagher estate. That includes a week's worth of groceries, even if he isn't the only one to eat... and, sir, it's very important that you know; the master Gallagher, in payment for your child-caring services, wishes to bestow upon you one extra charge of that token, which is to be _more_ than G60, 000 and must benefit yourself."

"What! Wigsby, what am I going to buy that's worth G60,000?"

"I am in no position to tell you, sir... but might I suggest a house? Perhaps one with walls?" the butler joked, and Draco regarded him with false coldness.

"Go home, Wigsby."

"Right-o," he agreed. "But first, sir, would you like me to bring up the rest of the young master's things? Or shall I leave him with just the clothes on his back?"

"Hardly, Wigsby. Didn't you bring in a suitcase already?"

"Indeed, sir; one containing his medications and playthings," he said, smiling wistfully, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"All right, all right. Just leave it down stairs; I'll pick it up later. Behind the desk, if you would be so kind," Draco agreed and the butler bowed before leaving the small apartment. Draco shook his head, flipping the token in his palm, and returned to the kitchen.

-x- -x- -x-

"Manny, I really _do_ hope it's a girl," Marin said; she had taken off her necklace again to view the tiny picture within it and was looking at it lovingly. Troy laughed into his large helping of birthday cake.

"You can't be serious," he snorted and Marin eyed him coldly.

"And why wouldn't I be serious?" she retorted, ignoring the look of warning given by Hermione.

"Because it's going to be a boy. All Malfoy firsts are boys; have been for as long as we can date," he stated knowledgably, shoveling another forkful of chocolate cake into his mouth. Marin frowned.

"Well... that doesn't mean she can't hope, does it Troy?" Hermione interceded, hoping to stop a fight before it began. Troy shook his shoulder, slouching at being shut down by someone of authority.

"Just saying..." he mumbled, and continued to quietly eat his cake. It was at this time that Draco reentered the kitchen and all three seated persons looked up. He smiled slightly and took Hermione's hand, dragging her up from her seat.

"Why don't we leave the two of you to better acquaint yourselves... seems you'll be seeing a lot of each other in the future. Hermione, a word," he begged, giving her an intense look that told of dark future if she were to decline. Hermione sighed, having a strange feeling that there would be no good news to come.

"No fighting," she warned, pointing at the two teenagers in succession and, as they nodded somberly, followed her boyfriend into another room. Marin sighed.

"So who's this dead lady? Your nanny?" she asked, helping herself to another slice of cake after readjusting her necklace. Troy didn't flinch, but suddenly did not seem too interested in eating his cake, for favor of poking it repeatedly.

"My mother," he corrected monotonously and Marin stopped mid-chew.

"God, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's all right. I didn't know her much anyway," he admitted, putting his fork down. "She was sick a lot, never really had the strength to do anything with me. My father travels abroad, but I never get to go with him. I think he's in Cambodia now... poaching something forbidden under cover of nature photographer." There was a certain distaste in his voice that did not go unnoticed.

"If it makes you feel any better, I know what it's like to have parents and not... have parents," she shared, staring down at her mutilated cake. Troy looked up in interest and Marin gave him half a smile. "My mum's a drunk. She's always either passed out or completely smashed, knitting like a madwoman. Usually things that aren't identifiable. My fa- my father... he works a lot. He's mad, a lot. I try to stay away from him. That's why I'm here, actually," she admitted. "Manny's looking into social services for me." Troy was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

"That's good," he said, to break the silence and Marin smiled her agreement. "Are you a muggle?" She looked confused.

"A what?"

"A muggle, you know; someone with no magic powers?" Troy explained out of habit, then clamped a hand over his mouth. "You _do_ know about wizards don't you? Oh, I didn't mean to tell!" Marin lifted an eyebrow at his upheaval.

"Calm down, won't you? Of course I know about that. Why are you making such a fuss?"

"I'm sorry. It's a law; you're not supposed to tell muggles about wizards... they'd want to hang us like in the olden days. Not that I think they _could_, but it makes it easier this way. So, are you?" he asked again.

"A muggle? I suppose so. Why?" Marin asked, eating her cake again.

"It's just I've never met a muggle girl before," he said, studying her. "Unless of course, you count the muggle-borns at school."

"You said that once before; muggle-born. What's that? People born muggles who... aren't later?"

"Of the sort. People like Hermione; with muggle parents. It used to be very rare, but now-a-days everyone's got some magic blood in them, if not enough to make them wizards. Hogwarts is half-full of them. Every house but... Slytherin," he shuddered. "Lucky I'm in Ravenclaw. I don't think I'd like being in Slytherin."

"I hope you know I have no idea what you're talking about," Marin said, smiling. Then, her face dropped as realization dawned on her. "Did you say _Hogwarts_? You mean, you've _been_ there?"

"Course I have," Troy said, eyeing her oddly. "I go to school here; 180 days a year. I'm in my fourth year, now. Three more to go." Marin got up out of her chair and retrieved her Hogwarts sculpture from where it stood on the counter, hidden by the fridge. Troy's mouth dropped as he saw her carry it to the table. "Wow," he said. "Look, there's Dumbledore on the front steps... oh, and Professor Snape, sticking out of the dungeons... this is wicked, Marin. Where'd you get it?"

"Draco made it for me, for my birthday," she said, boasting proudly and glad he was impressed. "He said it took him almost a month."

"Wow. Draco used to make me things when I was littler... but nothing like this," he said, laying his finger gently on the train as it brushed past him and into Hogsmeade station. Marin reached forward and turned the little tree to start the music. Troy smiled and started singing along to the melody, much to her surprise. When the song finished and started anew, he explained about the choral arrangement. Marin sighed wistfully.

"I've dreamed about places like this my whole life. I can't believe it really exists."

"You never know," he said. "Maybe someday I could take you there. Over Christmas or something. At least to Hogsmeade... and you can see the castle from there."

"Oh, I'd _love_ that. Can you really pet unicorns here?" she asked, pointing to a small, penned area where a lone unicorn stood surrounded by laughing children as their parents sat idly behind the gates. Troy nodded.

"Once a week, they let one in for a while. You have to be whole in innocence to touch one; it's a magical myth. Unicorns are the purest animals in the entire world; they can't be touched by impure hands, except to be slaughtered." He shivered. "Anyone who would slaughter a unicorn is _not_ someone you want to get friendly with." Troy turned to her and noticed she seemed a little disenchanted, petting the wooden unicorn sadly and turning the crank to start the music again, once it stopped. "Are you okay?" She looked up with half a smile, nodding.

"I'm fine."

"You know, it could be a girl," Troy said after a moment of thought. Marin touched the picture clasped around her neck, looking confused. He smiled. "Draco isn't your run-of-the-mill Malfoy."

-x- -x- -x-

"Draco, what's going on?" Hermione asked when they had successfully retreated to a far corner of the house.

"Troy's Mum died last night," he said, though she'd already been told, and proceeded to tell her everything that Wigsby had told him.

"But Draco, we can't afford to keep him here. We can hardly afford to keep _ourselves_ here," she argued. "You know I'd love for him to stay, but..."

"That's where this comes in," he said, taking out the coin. "Wigsby gave it to me, from Uncle Silas; it'll provide us all the money we need to keep him, and... there's something else." Hermione took a breath to ready herself, as Draco did not sound overly excited about whatever the new prospect was.

"Tell me," she said, assuring him of her support, and he sighed.

"In payment he has requested we make a purchase of equal or greater than... G60,000," Draco said, and Hermione sighed throwing his hands away.

"Draco, I _told_ you I didn't want charity from your family! We can use the chip to support Troy, but I don't want to take anything more..."

"We don't have a choice, Hermione. It's wizard etiquette; we've been gifted payment, we can't _not_ accept. That's about the rudest thing one can possibly do to a family member."

"So what are we going to buy that will cost that much money? I've never even _seen_ that much money..." Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest in disapproval.

"I say we take Wigsby's advice... and buy a house," Draco said tentatively, waiting for her response. Hermione stared for a moment, then sighed.

"All right; fine... but only because we'll need somewhere proper to house Troy. Nothing _too_ much; I don't want to spend any more than necessary," she insisted, and he groaned.

"We _have_ to spend G60,000. The more we spend, the better we'll look."

"I don't _care_ how we look. I'm only agreeing to this because I don't want to insult your family... they think enough of me as it is," she said, staring as he beseeched her. Finally, Hermione sighed. "All right, G60,000... but _no more_. Not a galleon... not a _knut_ more. Clear?" Draco grinned and pressed a firm kiss to her lips.

"I love you, Manny."

---------------------------------

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I've got my hands full.

Because Beach will never forgive me otherwise, I'm switching the rotation to alphabetical order rather than date of publication. Why? So I can update SEX next, and spare my life from the wrath of all that is Beach. Hope you've all enjoyed this.

Note: I changed the amount of money they recieved from G250,000 to G60,000... because I wasn't sure of the conversions. Now, I am. G250 000 is about $ 1,205,379... G60,000 is about $300,000... I thought that was more reasonable. :oD


	12. The Beginning of The End

Theretofore on GG:

"I say we take Wigsby's advice... and buy a house," Draco said tentatively, waiting for her response. Hermione stared for a moment, then sighed.

"All right; fine... but only because we'll need somewhere proper to house Troy. Nothing _too_ much; I don't want to spend any more than necessary," she insisted, and he groaned.

"We _have_ to spend G60,000. The more we spend, the better we'll look."

"I don't _care_ how we look. I'm only agreeing to this because I don't want to insult your family... they think enough of me as it is," she said, staring as he beseeched her. Finally, Hermione sighed. "All right, G60,000... but _no more_. Not a galleon... not a _knut_ more. Clear?" Draco grinned and pressed a firm kiss to her lips.

"I love you, Manny."

----------------------------------

Chapter 12: The Beginning of The End

Marin was seated on the front steps and tapping her toes in anticipation when Hermione opened the gate and started up the path to the front door. She tried to keep her arrival secret, but the creaky hinges gave her away and the dark haired girl sat up straight and at attention, looking around. A wide smile formed across her face as she stood from her seat and turned away, opening the door to bellow her retreat to those within. An elderly, frail-looking woman poked her head from the kitchen at the call and smiled warmly.

"All right, Marin-love. Have fun, and be careful! Call before bed tonight!"

"I will, Sasha!" she called back, then closed the door and grabbed her small overnight bag from the icy ground before running straight for Hermione's arms. She laughed as she caught her sister, spinning part-way to ride out the momentum of the icy walk.

After a heart-felt hug, Hermione pulled back with a smile.

"Have you got everything?" she asked, and Marin nodded her head eagerly, hiking the bag over her shoulder.

"Enough for a week!" she answered happily. "I thought I'd leave some things so I don't have to pack a bag every time."

"That's an excellent idea, love. So, we're ready to go?"

"I think so. You look great, Manny."

"I look like a blimp, but thank you," Hermione answered with a laugh. "Draco's waiting, or rather, hasn't realized I've left yet. He's quite into that nappy-table I _suggested_ as a Christmas gift for the baby. Made three scale models out of different kinds of wood to ask which one I'd like the most. Silly boy."

"Is Troy home yet?" she asked excitedly, completely ignoring the rest of the conversation, and Hermione smiled knowingly as she led the way from the modest country home and onto the street.

"No, he isn't," she admitted, unsurprised to see Marin frown and shove her hands into her pockets. Hermione waited a moment for effect before finishing her sentence. "But we'll be picking him up tomorrow morning." A grin lit Marin's face, but she tried to hide it in her scarf and quickened her pace a little.

"So, what are we doing this weekend?" Marin asked to change the subject and save herself from the blush that was coming from more than the cold December air. "Anything notable?"

"Well," Hermione said, linking her arm with that of the younger girl. "I thought tonight we'd spend some quality girl time together and let Draco finish the baby-table, and then tomorrow we'd go and pick up Troy before starting on the nursery. That is, if you want to help. If not, I-"

"No, no- I do. I've watched enough home-improvement on the telly to be a _pro_ at that," she insisted and Hermione laughed before lifting a hand to catch a cab.

"That's settled then. As for Sunday, that's up for grabs. Maybe I'll sleep all day and send you kids out for the afternoon," she said, sending a sly look over her shoulder as she entered the cab, and Marin pouted half-heartedly when she realized the suggestion was a joke and nothing more.

After both women and Marin's week's worth of clothing were all packed into the cab, Hermione dictated to the man and they sped the few miles to her newly acquired home in peace and trivial conversation.

Marin leapt from the car when it stopped and left Hermione alone to pay the tab. She pushed open the heavy iron gate and ran up the path to the house, sprinting across the wrap-around porch, and through the redwood door which led into the living space. Her bag was immediately forgotten in the foyer and Marin followed the identifiable 'whirr' of power tools that seemed to always accompany Draco. It led her through the living room and to the hall beyond it, past the bathroom and into the garage. He was sanding something with an enchant-ric tool, facing away from the door and wearing earphones to protect his hearing.

She snuck up on him, which was not a difficult thing to do, and attacked from behind, winding her arms around his waist and squeezing hard enough to fuse them together. Draco laughed heartily, turning off his sander and sliding his protective goggles to crown his head.

"What's that for?" he asked, smiling amusedly. "It's been what, three weeks? You act as if you haven't seen me in ages." Marin grinned as she released him and shrugged a shoulder.

"It feels like it," she admitted, somewhat sadly, and Draco's smile slightly fell.

"Are they treating you all right? You've been getting enough to eat? Clean clothes everyday?" he asked and Marin's only response was a roll of the eyes, so he moved on to more generalized topics. "How are your siblings?"

"We get along all right, most of the time," she said, crossing her arms. "But there's one boy, he's sixteen, and I just can't _stand_ him. He thinks he's worse off than everyone else, and he's always breaking rules and staying out all night. Keeping Sasha up until midnight, and she's too _old_ to lose that much sleep. Clay thinks he's _so superior_ just because he's only got a few months before he's off on his own." She sighed. "I worry about him, though. It's not as if he's really got a _future_. He hasn't his diploma, and I highly doubt he'd pass the GED test. He'll be just another burger-flipping, dope addicted, welfare case. Still I don't much care for him." Draco shook his head, tossing his arm over her shoulders and leading her out of the wood-stocked garage and into the house itself.

"You know, you've changed incredibly since I first met you, love. I'm... proud of you," he said and, with no words by means of reply, Marin blushed at her shoes. Taking the hint of her embarrassment, Draco again changed to a more light-hearted subject. "So," he said. "Four weeks and _still_ no one's been maimed? I give it an O."

"Actually," Marin cut in, smirking. "Benny, the six year old, broke his arm. No fault of mine though; he fell off the monkey bars at school."

"Well, imagine that," Draco noted, staring in mock-wonder at the ceiling. "Hm... E, then."

"What are 'O' and 'E'?"

"Outstanding and Excellent. Grading system at Hogwarts, you see. I'm sure Troy'd love to explain it to you. He'll be coming home tomorrow; you know," he told her, though he had a sneaking suspicion she'd already been told- given away mostly by the fact that she hadn't asked yet. Marin attempted with much success to quell her rush of adrenaline at the reminder.

"I know. Manny told me."

"Speaking of whom," Hermione said, appearing in the doorway with a caddy of tea. "'Manny' also would appreciate it if you'd put away your things, as opposed to dropping them in the middle of her foyer." Marin rolled her eyes and left Draco's embrace in order to comply with her hostess' wishes.

She jogged through the entry-room and grabbed her bag without pausing, then proceeded to march up the staircase and onto the second floor. As Marin had been to the house a few times before, she was quite aware of where her room was located and made a bee line toward it.

When Marin had last seen her bedroom, it had been papered in a light blue, floral pattern and the matted beige carpets held indentations, but no furniture. She had assisted Draco and Hermione in the purchase of their home, but did not have the time to stay and help decorate. They had embarked on a house-hunt after the entirety of Marin's birthday cake had been consumed, and Hermione looked into social services the very next day. Being somewhat influential in the ministry, though she held no true connection with the infamous Harry Potter, Hermione was able to schedule a hearing in wizarding courts. Because Marin was a muggle, it _did_ take longer to have the court date approved than it would have in the case of a magical child, but she was not about to complain about a mere forty eight hours.

Marin was administered a diluted truth serum, questioned, and released within an hour. She spent that night, as well as the two before the trial, with Hermione and Draco, and the very next day was introduced to Sasha, who was to be her foster mother. Marin would much rather have stayed within the guardianship of her keepers, but their lack of stable work, low income and (at the time) failure to provide adequate housing left the option entirely closed.

As per Sasha's protocol, Marin was required to spend one solid month at her new residence without seeing or speaking to Hermione or Draco. The effects of this isolation would be to force the new environment on Marin and establish her siblings as her friends. Against the rules, she snuck a midnight phone call on the one-week anniversary of their goodbye, successfully scaring Hermione into a conniption, to assure them that she would be fine on her own until her sentence was served.

Now, Marin walked into her room- expecting the drab, desolate empty space she had last seen- and nearly fell back in surprise. The room was far from what she every could have imagined; the ceiling was painted a dark blue and dotted with stars, the floor was covered in a grey, plush carpet which mocked the appearance of cobblestone, and the walls were painted in mossy stone, with windows outlined as port holes. One extra window had been added to the tower-like structure, providing a painted view of the Hogwarts Lake and Quidditch pitch. She dropped her bag and let out a shriek, jumping onto the authentic Hogwarts four-post bed, complete with a black duvet embossed with the four-house crest.

-x- -x- -x-

Troy waited for almost an hour, pacing in front of the train station barrier, contemplating exactly how he planned to tell Marin what he had pledged to tell her. They had been communicating secretly through midnight owl since he'd gone back to school, the same day she had moved in with her new family. Before that, Troy had attended his mother's funeral, received a bag of gold and a pat on the head from his father, and done a good bit of sulking. Though she had only known him for a few days, Marin had taken it upon herself to comfort him, and provide him with an unbiased someone to talk to. It was only later, in retrospect, after he had kissed her softly in goodbye and expressed his thanks in words, that Troy realized the true gift she had given him. It was only the following evening, as he sat in his dorm and contemplated Arithmancy, something as foreign to Marin as the eighth grade was to him, that he realized how insensitive he had been.

She had been hurting, too. His mother had died, yes, but he had never really known her. He had known the sight of her bedridden body, the plots of her delirious tales of fictional lands, the clammy feel of her hands on his skin, and the strange, childlike possession which had taken him over whenever she had fallen ill, but he didn't know his mother. If she was feeling well, he was at school. The summers he spent with Draco or his aunt, but never with her. It was the _prospect_ of losing his mother that made him so upset. The fact that the only parent he had left would rather have damned him to psychological confine in an institution than to accept responsibility over him.

Troy had relayed all of this information to Marin in the few days before he had been sent back to school. They had gone to the park, or to one of the forgotten pieces of furniture at the back of Draco's shop, or once to Hermione's old apartment to plead with Faye to supply them with ice cream, and had lain or lounged or sat together, and she had listened patiently with a little frown marring her olive toned face, as he talked for endless hours. When Marin had spoken, it was only to offer her condolence, or to suggest a method of action, or simply share her opinion on what he was feeling. But never once did she mention anything about herself.

She had been going through what must have been the worst time of her entire life, and Troy had accepted her offer of comfort rock when he should have reversed the roles. She was the woman in their relationship; _he_ was supposed to be _her_ shoulder to cry on... and instead he had rested his problems atop her heavily laden shoulders.

It was only then, many hours since he'd seen her, that Troy realized what he had so blind and selfishly done, and he vowed to make it up to her. His first course of action, another decision made without thinking, was to owl her with an incredibly long and drawn out letter of thanks and apology. Much to his surprise, she answered back with a lighthearted 'don't mention it' and proceeded to tell him all about one of her siblings, whom evidently reminded her of him. From then on, the midnight exchange became almost nightly, and had been for the entire month.

As he paced the doorway, Troy was very aware that Marin resided right beyond its crevice. She had told him last night in her letter that she would be waiting with Hermione and Draco to pick him up, to take him back home where they could finally be together again. In honesty, Troy wasn't sure if he was ready to see her.

Knowing that he would have to come out eventually, he whistled for his trunk (which quickly sprung to life and scurried after him like a loyal pet) and stepped through the barrier.

"There you are, Scout," Draco's voice boomed, opening his arms. "We thought you'd gotten lost."

"Course not. Not the first time I went through the barrier," Troy said, producing a lopsided smile. "I just had to talk to a few people. I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

"That's all right, Troy," Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his cheek. "Are we all ready, then?"

"Sure," he said, gaze flickering to Marin, who was staring disappointedly at her toes. "Is there somewhere I can put my trunk? I'd rather not have it following me around all day." Hermione laughed.

"Of course. I borrowed a car just for the occasion."

"Great. Mar, will you show me where it is?" he asked and her head snapped up in alarm, as if she had been called on while daydreaming in class. He looked to her expectantly and she gave half a nod, taking a step backward, toward the door. Troy followed.

"We'll be here when you get back," Draco told them and Hermione nodded before mumbling, 'I've just got to find a place to sit down'.

The two teenagers were silent as they wandered from the train station, into the parking lot and to the rusty Chevy that belonged to Faye. After Troy's trunk was tucked safely in the trunk (shrunken slightly to fit), Marin turned away from him and made to open the door, but he stopped her.

"Hey," Troy said, taking her wrists into his hands. "Are you okay? You're quiet. And," he paused, frowning. "you don't really seem happy to see me." Marin shook her head viciously and looked up at him.

"Of course I am. I'm sorry, I just- I don't feel right, right now," she said, struggling to find words, and Troy suddenly looked devastated.

"Oh, no. You're sick?"

"No, no," she assured him, confused at his reaction. "I just don't feel... right. I feel funny. It's nothing, really," she said absentmindedly, lacing her fingers in his.

"I missed you terribly," he told her, stringing from nowhere. Marin smiled at their hands.

"You barely know me," she told him and Troy lifted one set of hands to lift her chin.

"Is that really how you feel?" he asked and she shook her head slightly.

"No."

"Good, because I don't either," Troy said and pushed forward to kiss her softly on the lips. Marin tensed at first, startled by his advance, but relaxed quickly.

"I missed you too," she confessed, breaking free of his hands and wrapping her arms around him, to which he reciprocated. Marin pressed her cheek to the cotton of his Ravenclaw robes and Troy placed a thin kiss in her hair. He held her in silence for a moment, enjoying her scent and the feel of her body against his. He had never been so close to a woman as to feel the imprint of her curves against his pale chest; not until Marin.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Troy asked, breaking the silence just as Marin began to forget her orientation and drift into daydreams. She blinked a few times and pulled back from their embrace, leaving a cold empty space on Troy's person.

"Sure," she assured, crossing her arms to tuck her fingers into the bend at her shoulder. Troy smiled.

"Then let's go," he suggested, placing a hand gently at the small of her back and leading Marin back toward the train station. She looked instantly confused.

"Go where?"

"Well, you didn't think we'd leave without Draco and Hermione did you?" Troy asked her playfully and Marin shook her head.

"No, I suppose not, but I actually hadn't thought of that..."

"Do you trust me?" he asked her and her eyes locked on his.

"The last time someone asked me that, the coffee table turned into a pony and I had the absolute worst night of my life," Marin shared and he lifted an eyebrow.

"All right," Troy granted. "That might change the answer, but the question's still the same." She smiled slightly.

"Of course I trust you. Now, what grave and moral peril did I just agree to?" Marin asked and he laughed, inching his fingers around her waist and pulling her closer to him.

"Well, know now that I would never put you in danger and, if you trust me, you'll believe that."

"You're avoiding my question," Marin accused, lifting an eyebrow at him, and Troy gave a slight nod.

"That's because it's a surprise. I promised you something a while back, and I keep my promises."

"So I should guess?"

"If you want to."

"You're going to use that quirky magic of yours and make me turn into a cat," Marin guessed, and Troy couldn't stop the smile which leaked onto his face.

"Never. It's too advanced, anyway. And maybe even illegal; I'll have to get back to you on that."

"Hm... so something practical then? Are you going to marry me and whisk me away from this troubled lifestyle for favor of a little house in the middle of no where with two rooms and an outhouse?"

"Erm, maybe in a couple years? I can't even afford a ring right now, much less a cottage in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere is an expensive town you know. You'll be lucky if I find something on the outskirts of nowhere. The middle is just right-out," he said and Marin laughed tentatively. For all she knew of this magical world, he could have been telling the truth.

"I give up. I'm out of outlandish ideas," she said, sighing and slumping her shoulders.

"Some of which will be noted for future reference," Troy said, and nodded ahead of them. "There they are." He dropped the hand around her waist and Marin felt sad.

"Are you ashamed of this funny little thing we have?" she asked him softly, slowing her footsteps as to allow more time for conversation before they reached the earshot of their guardians. Troy looked caught off guard.

"What? Why would you say that?"

"You let go of me as soon as you saw them," she said, nodding ahead to where Hermione was lounging on a wooden train-station bench while Draco rested his hand on her stomach and remained raptly engaged in a conversation with her that appeared to be mostly one-sided. "Of all people to masquerade in front of, I'd think-"

"I'm not," Troy said, interrupting her with a burst that seemed more involuntary than planned. "I'm not," he repeated, more calmly this time. "I just, thought it would be odd. We walk away four-day aquaintences who haven't spoken in almost a month, and come back... something else?"

"I suppose," she agreed, tucking her hands deeper into her armpits. Troy shook his head and pulled one loose, entwining it in his own.

"What am I saying?" he asked honestly and Marin gave him a sad smile.

"If you're uncomfortable, you don't _have_ to."

"Hogwash," he stated, pecking her forehead softly. "As a matter of fact..." Troy nearly dragged Marin to the spot where they had left Draco and his heavily laden girlfriend. "Draco!" he called as he came to a halt, and the older blond snapped to attention, looking between the two teenagers as Hermione was. "Watch, because I have to show you something."

"All right-" Draco started, but before he could compose his thought, or Marin could articulate a question akin to 'What are you talking about?' Troy had reattatched his lips to hers and had thrown her into a whirlwind of adrenaline. As he pulled away, there was silence among both his partner and their audience. Then, Hermione hoisted herself up.

"Good show, both of you. Now, are we ready to go? Haven't got all day, you know."

Draco moved to take her arm and assist her to the barrier, though she didn't seem to have needed it.

"Erm... sure," Troy agreed, sharing a look with Marin, who was recovering from an emotional overdose and _did _need assistance in walking through the barrier. She regained her sense of self once they reached the other side.

"_Cor_," she gasped in awe at the blood-red train that was still parked on its tracks. As she watched, it disappeared into thin air. "That's amazing. Where did it go?"

"Back to Hogwarts I expect. Or somewhere equally far away," Troy told her and literally needed to pull her along to keep up with Hermione's swollen ankle-ed pace.

"Where are we going?"

"Aren't you just full of questions? I told you; it's a surprise. Now, close your eyes, because we're going there by floo and soot makes a nasty contact solution." Mutely, Marin did as she was told and basked in wonder as she felt herself be squished into a fireplace with Troy and, after he had spoken some unidentifiable words, pelted with wind. "We're here."

"Already?" she asked and Troy laughed.

"Quite efficient, isn't it. Now, don't open your eyes. This is where you've got to trust me."

"I do," Marin repeated, and Troy placed a soft kiss at her temple. He led her through noisy streets, in which Marin heard a hundred expressions she'd never heard of. "What the bloody hell is bobotuber pus? It sounds disgusting."

"It is, in more ways than one. Be quiet, or people will think you're not from around here."

"I'm not," she reminded him, and Troy sighed, squeezing her shoulders.

"I know, but the fewer people who know that the better. Most magic-folk are amazed by muggles. You'd either be treated like a celebrity, or you'd be burned at the stake. I'd rather not find out which," he explained and she shivered.

"Point taken."

"It's not much farther, I promise. Are you feeling better?"

"What?" Marin asked, but then recalled her confession earlier. In reality, she had simply been disappointed that he had not so much as spared her a glance when he walked through the barrier between platforms. She had spent the previous night imagining their fairytale-like, glorious reunion; complete with fireworks and moonlight and dancing, and he hadn't bothered to look her way. Her impression had been farcical and senseless, but it had been something. A something quite opposite of reality. "Oh," she said, realizing she had yet to answer him. "Yes, very much so," Marin assured, and it was the honest truth. She smiled.

"I'm glad," he said, rubbing his thumbs against her shoulder blades. They were quiet for the remainder of the short trip, and Troy squeezed her again before speaking. "All right, we're here. Feel the fence, there?"

"Yes."

"Hold out your hands," he commanded softly and she agreed, holding them forward and toward the unknown. "Now, just be patient." Marin waited, feeling the cool, dying autumn air lace through her fingertips and then, was surprised when a very wet nose placed itself within her palms and sneezed into them. She laughed in surprise. "You can open your eyes, Marin." She heard Troy say from behind her as he tied his hands around her waist, and she followed his instructions; blinking against the sunlight. Her eyes grew alive and alight at the sight in front of her, and the animal licked at the wetness in her palm, as if in apology.

"Troy," she said, somewhat breathlessly. "Troy, it's a..."

"A unicorn, I know." She turned to him slightly, keeping her eyes on the mythical beast as if anticipating it to run quickly away at realizing who it was his sneeze had contaminated.

"But you said that you can only touch them if you're pure, like they are," she reminded him, and he nodded against her shoulder.

"I did," he agreed.

"But..." she started, biting her lip against the tears, "but I'm... _not_."

"Marin, there are lots of kinds of innocence. You lost one of the ones that no one should ever lose, one that was taken from you against your will. They know that, Mar, and they won't resent you for it." Marin ran her fingers down the single, spiraled horn that spouted from the animal's head. It was covered in a soft, velvet-like fur and was warm to the touch. The unicorn also seemed to enjoy such treatment. She did not ask any more questions and continued to stroke the soft white fur until the animal had decided that it was no longer her turn, and licked her palm once more before moving on to a little boy, who was sitting patiently on the leaf-covered grass, nursing day-old scraped knees and picking at the red paint which covered the fence. Marin watched his face light up at the sight of the creature, and did not feel disappointed that it had left her. She turned to Troy, who was standing patiently by her side, his arms around her loosely.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she told him softly, and he smiled.

"I promised I would," Troy said and paused. "Now, we should go meet Draco and Hermione." Marin straightened, as if just noticing that their mentors had left them.

"Oh," she said. "Where are they?" Troy did not speak, but pointed over her shoulder. Marin turned partway, eyes following the line that his arm created. Her pupils widened. "You mean...?"

"Right," he noted, grinning. "Hogwarts."

-----------------------------------

A/N: I'm not even going to begin an explanation. And don't expect much improvement, either. This was completed on a lucky no-homework night. Don't get much of those anymore.


	13. Silhouettes

Green Glass: Part Two

_Two and a half years later_

Chapter 13: Silhouettes

Hermione tiptoed through her bedroom, stealthy and cautious. She slowly opened the closet door and ran her eyes over the contents. Frowning slightly, she let the door rest again on its lock.

"No hide in closet, Mumsie!" cried a high-pitched voice, accompanied by a wave of raging giggles. Hermione smiled to herself and pretended to look in the bathroom. The giggles intensified.

"Well," Hermione said at a decibel higher than normal. "It seems he isn't in here after all. Perhaps I should check somewhere else?" She walked with heavy steps toward the bedroom door and was expectantly immobilized by the pair of pudgy arms that tied themselves around her ankles. Smiling broadly, she looked down. A russet brown head poked it's way between her calves and Hermione planted her palms on her hips.

"I find you, Mummy!"

"You found me, Dew. I could have sworn I were looking for you, though."

"Hermione?" came a third voice from the first floor, and the brown-haired boy squealed.

"Daddy!" he called and scrambled to his feet, racing out of the room and chanting "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy..." with each step of the stairs. Draco knelt in the foyer, waiting for his son to approach him.

"Dewey," he warned, rubbing at his calf. "What did I tell you about leaving your toys in the foyer?" Dewey stopped within two feet of his father and frowned.

"Toy hurt you?"

"Yes, Dewey," Draco said, picking up the little wooden rabbit that he had given his son for his 1 year and 9 month birthday. It sported a set of wooden wheels and a magic ball that, when held, would force the rabbit to roll along behind a person at an interval of about a yard. Dewey loved the toy and, consequentially, it was frequently found in odd places about the house.

"I sorry, Daddy," Dewey said, looking heart broken, and stepped forward to hold his father's cheeks in his hands. "No cry. You no hurt." Draco smiled at his son and placed a kiss between his honey-brown eyes.

"All right, son. Go play."

Dewey was happy to accept the rabbit into his possession and placed it on the floor. He picked up the ball and ran through the dining area, laughing wildly. Draco smiled after him and stood up to face Hermione, who had followed the two-year-old in his adventure down the stairs. He kissed her on the cheek.

"Did we have a good day?" Draco asked, and Hermione smiled.

"Wonderful. I'm completely exhausted, and he's still got a 5k run in him," she said, crossing her arms. "Did the book say when he would just stop this constant motion and... I don't know, sit down and read something?" Draco laughed.

"I don't know, love, but I would imagine it to be some time _after_ he learns to read."

"Don't even joke about that. He correctly identified the _entire_ alphabet this morning. A to zed, and not even in order! So much for the luxury of spelling over his head. My mum always used to do that. We're going to the s-t-o-r-e. If I try that with him he'll ask me to get him some of that raisin bread he likes."

"So you dislike having a wunderkind sprout from our loins and take over our home?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You know that isn't true. I love him more than anything. I wouldn't change a thing about him... except perhaps his sugar intake. I _told _you not to give him juice with breakfast."

"So now it's my fault?"

"Stop twisting what I'm saying. I didn't say that at all," Hermione defended and started away, but Draco stopped her by the wrist.

"Don't go away mad, now," he said, slipping his fingers into hers. "What else did you do today?"

"About three hours of hide-and-seek, assembled three, twelve-piece puzzles fourteen times each, and read aloud the entire 'Cury Orge' collection. And _somehow_ managed to find time to direct the laundry and dishes to wash themselves."

"And you say you want to work full-time," Draco teased, taking a step away from her to allow Dewey to race his rabbit between them. Hermione laughed.

"I want a job so I can have a break! Speaking of which, how was _your _day?" she asked and Draco groaned. It was common knowledge that he did not approve of the switch from owning a business to working under someone. He had traded in his love of crafting for an iron brander and an endless supply of tables in need of company marks. He let go of Hermione's hand and wandered into the kitchen, setting his briefcase on the counter and raiding the refrigerator for fruit juice.

"Bentley, that Scot who works in sanding? The one at the Christmas party? He's been promoted to 'Tique scout," he said, pouring himself a drink and imagining it to be something alcoholic. Despite the clever way of their meeting, Hermione had forbid any beer or liquor in their home since their move: she hadn't allowed herself a sip while pregnant and, in wake of reading a current events article about a six-year-old girl who had drowned in a keg of whiskey while her parents were entertaining, saw no reason to risk such a catastrophe after giving birth to Dewey Harper.

He had been born on June 21st, sometime between ten at night and two in the morning. Draco had been entirely unconscious when Hermione had started to feel strange, and she had apparated herself to the hospital without him when the tenth or eleventh call of his name did little to rise him. She hadn't thought much of it, but had been nearly ten centimeters dilated when she remembered that he was still asleep. She heard later that it had taken a house-elf with a foghorn to make him pay attention. He arrived with time to spare and was the very first to hold Dewey. They had decided on Harper initially, but Faye said that she'd had an ominous dream and that it was completely nonnegotiable that the child be named Dewey. Draco had turned his nose up at first, but both Faye and Hermione thought it was adorable and the power of women won out in the end. They had compromised and squeezed 'Harper' into the place between first and surname, making a complete set of identification. Draco had eventually warmed up to the change, but was often derided for his original reluctance. Dewey, however, had never once expressed ill regard for his name.

"I take it you're not happy for Bentley?" Hermione asked, opening a cupboard and removing a selection of plates and cutlery.

"Of course I am," Draco said, after swallowing a bitter bit of grapefruit extract. "He's got four redheaded ankle-biters and one hell of a mortgage... but love you _know _how much I want that job. It's the only thing at that place _remotely_ close to what I used to do." Hermione set down a cup with a bit more force than absolutely necessary, causing Draco's attention to snap to her. She ignored it, however, wiping her hands on a dishrag although there were completely dry and free of kitchen grime.

"I want juice, Mumsie!" Dewey said, entering the kitchen and, inevitably, the conversation. "I want juice. Mumsie, I want juice!" Ignoring the pointed look Draco was giving her, Hermione stepped around him and liberated a plastic cup from the stack above the icebox. She filled it a quarter with grapefruit juice and smiled slightly when Dewey made a sour face at his first sip and continued to drink it. "Thank you, Mumsie."

"You're welcome, Dewey. Take that to the table and get in your chair, all right? Mummy'll be there in a minute; it's time for dinner."

Dewey toddled toward the dining room and Hermione balanced a bowl of broccoli casserole on her stack of dishes and made to follow him.

"Hermione," Draco said, somewhat warningly, and took the bowl from its unstable perch.

"Thank you," Hermione said, ignoring his obviously questioning manner. "But be careful; it's hot."

"Tell me what that's all about," Draco said, persisting, and Hermione pretended to look innocent.

"What is what about?" she asked.

"You know what I mean. That mood you're in."

"It's nothing."

"It isn't nothing. Tell me."

"I just hate it when you complain about work, Draco," she admitted. "I don't know why I bother to ask you anymore. It's always the same; somebody else is doing something you want to do. Something you _used_ to do before _we_ came into your life and shifted the whole thing suburban. I'm _sorry_, all right? I never asked you to give everything up for me and I _hate_ it when you make me seem guilty of it." Hermione set the stack of dishes down and leaned heavily against the table, avoiding eye contact with Draco. She half expected him to be sympathetic and apologize, but he didn't. He stood solid, holding his casserole, and peered down at her.

"You know I don't mean to do that," he said coolly. "I hate my job, and that's all there is to it. I love you, and I love Dewey, and I _don't_ blame you for work. I have no intention of placing guilt on you."

"Well it certainly feels that way," she said harshly, then lifted her voice to talk to her son. "Dewey, love, let's keep the bib on tonight, hm? You look so handsome in that shirt!" Draco ignored the interruption and placed the casserole on the table.

"Well, how do you think I feel when you complain about the baby, Hermione? As if _you're_ not trying to make _me_ feel guilty for making you stay here with him all day? I'm _sorry_ that having my son has forced you away from the deceased you care so deeply for."

This time, Hermione slammed down the spoon she had been using to serve her two-year-old his daily dose of fiber and carbohydrates.

"How _dare _you insinuate that I do not love my son!" she yelled at him, standing to her full height and balling her hands into fists at her sides. "How dare you even _assume_ that I don't spend countless moments cherishing the time I have with him, and thanking whatever's out there that I'm not stuck in an office for ten hours a day while he's growing up with a nanny as a mother? That I don't wonder _everyday _what I did to deserve such a wonderfully bright child and such an amazing place to raise him? You think I'd rather watch dozens of bodies of children roll in on hospital stretchers, with broken limbs from abusive parents or burns from cigarettes or horrible disfigurements from tragic accidents? You think that's what I want?" Hermione felt herself getting overly worked-up and, from the look on Draco's face, she could tell that she had stopped making coherent arguments some time ago. She took a breath and turned away, wiping at the eyes which burned with unshed tears. "I said it was nothing, Draco. Just forget about it."

She scooped a helping of casserole onto a plate and set it at the place where Draco was renowned for taking his meals, then helped herself to some before sitting down beside her son and shoving a morsel into her mouth. Draco stood behind her, almost shell-shocked, and watched wordlessly as she ignored him and tried to coax Dewey into eating. Firstly, Dewey hated broccoli and secondly, he seemed to lose his good nature whenever he witnessed a fight. He was obviously and understandably unsettled by his parents' rants this particular evening.

"Hermione," he said, ignoring the fact that his vegetables were losing the fight against room temperature. Draco knelt beside her chair and placed his hand on her knee. His eyes begged her to look his way, but she ignored him. "I'm sorry. I know you love Dewey, and you know I love you both. Neither of us had any doubt of that, did we?" Hermione folded her hands in her lap and leaned back against the chair.

"No," she agreed. "I don't know why we fight, Draco. All we ever manage to accomplish is to starve our son and second-guess ourselves. I don't like it. We never used to fight like this."

"Things are just different now. We miss the kids, we don't have the most fulfilling lives _outside_ of our kids, and we're still adjusting to this ever changing baby business. It's natural that we're going to get a little cranky. All couples fight."

"But Draco," she said, taking a stuttering breath. "I haven't seen you all day, and five minutes after you come home I'm already picking a fight. This and we've been together for three years- what happens at five? Ten? Will I start calling you at work to nag about something? Get up early in the morning to yell at you before you leave?" Draco laughed and rested his head on her thigh. "It isn't funny!"

"It _is_, love. We'll make it through this, I promise. We're going to be together forever and eventually... we'll get used to it," Draco countered and she sighed, placing her hand behind his neck and running her fingers over the hair she found there.

"I hope you're right. Go on and eat, I'm going to put Dewey upstairs. He'll never eat, as it is. We should really be more careful about what we say around him."

"Aw, sure he will. We just have to convince him that we're happy."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Hermione asked, somewhat suspiciously as she noted the smirk marring his face. Draco proceeded then to tickle her, using the chair to his advantage by holding her to it so that she could not escape. He exhausted the tried-and-true spots of her collarbone and underarms and explored much of the rest of her body for notable discoveries, torturing his son's mother until her face matched the cabaret carpet and Dewey had dissolved into a fit of giggles to rival his mother's. "Stop it! Stop it, or I'm going to... I'm going to..."

"You're going to what?" Draco asked as he reeled in his fingers and kept them at bay on the sides of her face. Hermione was blushing and breathing heavily, but smiling and radiant. She kept her tight grip on his wrists as she calmed her beating heart.

"I love you," she said and Draco lifted an eyebrow.

"Really? And that's supposed to stop me, is it?"

Hermione smiled and he kissed her, holding the sides of her face and pressing their lips together like teenage lovers on St. Valentine's. She sighed as they parted and kept her eyes closed, leaning back against the chair.

"Dewey, eat your dinner," she said. Dewey's giggles stopped and he made a face.

"No. Brocky yucky."

"Well," Draco said, liberating his wrists from their slender shackles and standing straight. "Then you better _not_ eat your dinner." Dewey looked confused as he watched his father take his proper seat on the other side of his high-chair.

"Why?" he asked, eyes wide as he stared at the pasta on his plate.

"Because," Hermione said. "If you don't, Daddy's going to tickle you." Though the logic seemed to make absolutely no sense, it sufficed for Dewey and he dove into his dinner, making a range of faces and gulping down quarter-cupfuls of grapefruit juice. Hermione smiled at Draco from across the table and turned her attention back to her dinner.

xxx xxx xxx

When Draco had exhausted the tiny machine shop of his garage to the point where he could feel accomplished for the remaining five minutes of the evening, he switched off the lights and started up the stairs, rubbing at the stiffness in the back of his neck. All was dark and quiet on the second floor and he decided to check in on his son before retiring to bed with the girl he adored so much for putting up with him. To his surprise, however, he found his two favorite brunettes together in the nursery. Hermione, it seemed, had become so desperate to calm their son of his nighttime cries that she had folded herself into his hand-made crib and rested the child on her chest. Draco smiled to himself and pulled a stool toward the bedside, fearing that any more weight on the mattress may cause it to collapse. He was worried more for his night's sleep than the furniture itself; Dewey seemed to be most fussy at night.

"Hermione," he whispered, prodding her gently in the thigh. "Love... wake up." Hermione inhaled sharply and swatted at him as she would a fly. Draco laughed softly and caught her fingers, triggering an automated response in Hermione to wake. He looked quirkily at her. "What are you doing?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"He's afraid of broccoli."

"What?"

"He said that it didn't feel right in his stomach, and he was afraid that it would come out and eat him if I didn't stay here," she said, kissing the top of Dewey's head. Draco seemed, if possible, more amused.

"He really said that?"

"Not in so many words, but that was what I gathered from him; he was quite upset. Imagination, he does have. What time is it?" she asked, shifting slightly but making no motion to rise from her accordion-like position. The side of the crib had been removed a few months ago (an action which proved less encouraging in the field of toilet-training than hoped) and she stretched one leg through the opening.

"Two-thirty."

"Two-thirty! Did you just come up? Draco, this isn't healthy for you. I read somewhere that you need at least eight hours of sleep a night. You're lucky if you get four!" she scolded, trying to sound angry while at the same time keeping her voice down for sake of the sleeping boy on her chest. Draco shook his head at her and assisted in the removal of forty pounds of dead-weight from her chest.

"And _I_ read somewhere that if you read enough, you'll go blind. So stop reading and I'll stop building," he countered wittily, holding Dewey to his chest and pressing his lips to the side of his head. Once Hermione had vacated the birth, he set the child down and covered him in a quilt. "Anyway, you're not getting much more sleep than I am."

"That's his fault, not mine," she said softly, bending to rest the side of her face against Dewey's back and assure herself that all his internal functions were working properly. "At least I get to nap when he does. I do wish I could find the time to do that _and_ bathe properly. I must look like a wretch," she said, laughing softly. "It's no wonder you'd rather stay in the woodshop." She hadn't meant it negatively; more as a short on herself than on his attentions. Draco frowned deeply, watching as she held their son protectively between his mattress and the sensitive fluids contained in her inner ear. She _was_ a mess; it didn't seem as if she _had_ found the time to shower properly that day as her hair was tied up loosely atop her head, and light brown globs of peanut butter were apparent on some of the outer tendrils. She was wearing his clothes, hers long ago put away so that it would be _his_ shirt that was dyed purple with grape juice and stained with whatever items may be served at one of the day's meals. _Come to think of it_, he thought. _I think she was wearing **that** shirt yesterday_.

And despite it all, she seemed perfectly content with the child-terror that was the cause of such miserable lifestyle. She kissed his back through the textured cotton of his Quidditch-themed pajamas and whispered words of comfort to him, assuring the boy's subconscious that no fibrous green vegetables would trouble him that night. She was smiling as she stood, now instructing Dewey to come and get her if anything _were _to go wrong, and Draco looked up from his stool in awe. Hermione looked oddly at him, her tucking-in and good-nights finished, and stepped into the space between his knees. She tangled her fingers in his hair and reveled in the way the strands caressed her palms. Draco, suddenly it seemed, tied his arms around her waist and brought her to him, keeping his temple pressed to her navel.

"You're not wretched," he said, so softly she hadn't distinctly heard him. Hermione chose to repeat his words in her mind until they fit themselves together, instead of ruining the heavily tense moment with trivial questions. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever known."

"Draco..."

"Why do you put up with us?" he asked, interrupting whatever speechless comment she had chosen to utter. Hermione smiled and hugged him to her.

"Because I love you. You're my boys; how could I live without my boys?"

"Marry me," Draco stated randomly, sounding almost as if he were intoxicated, or half-asleep. Hermione tensed slightly in surprise and drew back from their quirky embrace.

"What?"

"I mean it. I want you, I want you to have me. Please, Hermione."

"Oh, Draco," Hermione said, dropping to her knees in front of him and planting a kiss on the bridge of his nose. "Of course I'll marry you, but... where is this coming from?" He kissed her.

"I don't know. I love you absurdly today," he said, grinning, and she mirrored him.

"Why? I've been nothing but horrid to you since you came home."

"I want you to be horrid to me everyday when I come home. _And_ while I'm away. _And_ early in the morning before I leave," he kissed her again. "And if you feel the need, in the middle of the night as well."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: A little shorter than a normal chapter, but because you guys want this out and people are hounding me for SEX no pun intended, in retrospect, I'm going to stop here, because this is the most opportune place to stop. A lot of explaining for no real reason:oD I hope you liked it. Really.


	14. This is not what you think

This is not a chapter, it's an author's note. I realize that that is against the rules of Fanfiction and I'm sure this will be taken down very shortly, but I hope it reaches enough eyes to be understood.

I can't tell you how many times you people have chided me for my author's notes, and I don't really expect that this one will cause a change in that. I'm sure by now you've realized that I write them only when I'm upset with reviews and I have something to say in my defense. You can't really expect a defense to be chocolate coated and covered in sugar sweets.

So, yes, I know that there are grammatical errors in my short stories. There're more than likely grammatical errors in this author's note. Honestly? Nope, I don't care. People keep reviewing to bitch me out about A/N's I wrote being sore about grammar and people whining about it.

I'm not perfect. I'm not an editor, I'm not an English major—hell, when I wrote most of the stuff on this website I wasn't even a high-schooler. That's the major qualm I have here, actually.

I WROTE THESE THINGS YEARS AGO.

I don't mind people reviewing to say, "Oh yeah I liked this and I wish you'd update again"(even though I don't plan to) or "I actually thought this sucked for legitimate reasons that I will outline as follows."

I just hate it when people review only to tell me that I was immature and out of line when yelling at people in my author's notes. I was like, 12. 12 year olds tend to be kind of immature and out of line a lot of the time. Don't tell them about it seven years later and expect them to have a self-revelation and repent for all their sins.

Since I'm here I might as well take the time to say a few more things,

I really do appreciate you guys still reading my stories and enjoying them even though they're getting really dusty.

I'm not going to update again, no matter how many times I'm asked and how enthusiastically those requests are outlined.

I was there, too, when I thought Fanfiction was the greatest thing in the world and that I would never tire of it—but I did. I remember one of my best friends-through-Fanfiction giving up on her stories when I was in my prime and thinking to myself, how could you do that? How could you do that to yourself, to your fans? To your unfinished work?

I will never do that. I will write Fanfiction until I am dead.

You will find soon in your lives that things you think are true when you're 14 have a tendency to not be exactly as you expected them to be.

I outgrew Fanfiction. There are things in my life that are more important now.

I'm deep and tormented in unrequited love with my best friend.

I have $20,000 in college loans.

I'm designing websites under the guidance of real designers and for real organizations.

I'm going to Otakon.  the best thing to ever happen to me

There's just no room in my life for the 19 hours of Fanfiction I used to write and read everyday. I'm sorry, guys.

But, this is Priah—Signing out.


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